


Nemesis

by Glorfindel



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Action, Blood and Violence, Character Death, Drama, Happy Ending, Heavy Angst, Hurt No Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Past Torture, Revenge, Separation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-20
Updated: 2016-11-26
Packaged: 2018-08-23 16:14:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 11
Words: 28,661
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8334091
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Glorfindel/pseuds/Glorfindel
Summary: Erestor was raised by Sauron to be a good soldier and a good son but after a devastating betrayal, Erestor is determined to get his revenge... no matter how long it takes.Thousands of years later Erestor has found his quarry and confronts him in an explosive battle to the death.





	1. Nemesis

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to my beta the ever wonderful Keiliss.  
> Thank you to Ignoblebard for reading the draft and helping with the summary.  
> Thank you to Wendigame001 for the superb art - you can find her here: https://www.facebook.com/wizardmerlinmanips/  
> Opening quote from The Return of The King by J.R.R.Tolkien.  
> The Russian part of this story was researched using web sources and several books, detailing personal memories and historical perspectives - any errors are mine alone.  
> Written for the OEAM 2016 Big Bang

 

 

**Nemesis**

by

**Chaotic_Binky**

 

 

**“And as the captains gazed south to the Land of Mordor, it seemed to them that, black against the pall of cloud, there rose a huge shape of shadow, impenetrable, lightning-crowned, filling all the sky. Enormous it reared above the world, and stretched out towards them a vast threatening hand, terrible but impotent: for even as it leaned over them, a great wind took it, and it was all blown away, and passed; and then a hush fell.”**

  

Those who watched knew in their hearts that Sauron was gone forever, never again to exist in the lands of Middle-earth, his power vanquished, and his spirit scattered by Lord Manwë's winds to the four corners of the earth. Their hearts gladdened to the certainty that he could never reform. They had won the war and peace would be everlasting. But they were wrong.

 

Of their number, only one elf was not so easily fooled, for he knew the enemy better than anyone.

 

Hope was all he had left, but even that was in short supply.

 

o0o0o0o

 

"The overwhelming remembrance I have of my father is the moment he betrayed me.

 

For many a year I was a loyal son and fully supported his seemingly never ending quest for dominion over Middle-earth; I knew no better. Father wanted it all, complete and total subjugation of all people and races, instead of choosing to be happy with what he had and living in peace with those who chose not to follow him but did not dare to cross his path with designs of their own. I even fought in some of the skirmishes and smaller battles. However, Father was always reluctant to let me go for fear I would be killed or captured by the enemy, the Men of Gondor especially whom he hated with a passion. I suspect he feared them as well.

 

It was inevitable that a certain amount of distrust would form as I grew stronger and able to form my own opinions. I did not see it at the time, or I chose to ignore it. Our bond was too close for me to take any such threat seriously. Had I not laid my victories, minor as they were, solely at his feet? None of the glory was claimed for myself, even I was not that blind or foolish, plus I idolised him. He was of my blood; so why wouldn't I?

 

One day, Father spent a happy hour questioning a human caught by one of his orc patrols.  According to him, the captive revealed during his ordeal that a small representation of elves were travelling to the Gondorian court to draw up plans for trading in vellum, upon which they could write their legal statutes. They would march along the route of the Anduin, to be met by a party of Gondorians near to Minas Tirith. After imparting such information, and obviously not knowing any more than that, there was nothing left to do with him so he was killed. Father stuck a dagger in his chest, the blade just nicking his heart, so the blood would fill the chest cavity and make death come slower. As he lay dying, the captive was whipped to teach him a lesson about betraying secrets to the enemy.

 

'A party of elves dealing in vellum will be easy to overcome. Of course, they will be guarded by warriors, but they will hardly be a fighting force. Another easy victory for the cause.' Father sighed happily as he placed his arm around my shoulders to draw me near.

 

'Father, may I lead the party to overcome them?'

 

'Who would you choose to accompany you?' The bloodied whip dropped to the floor as he smiled indulgently. I remember the sound of the end spikes as they hit the stone flags. He ordered a nearby orc to clean the floor and feed the dead human to the wargs before taking my hand. 'Although his death bores me already, I must mention how I think you would have enjoyed seeing him suffer. Such exquisite torment, and the surprise in his eyes when I lectured him on not betraying secrets to the enemy. It fair did my heart good. But still, you came in at the end and missed most of it. That will teach you not to be so tardy.'

 

'I wish you had waited for me,' I said eagerly, even though my heart was anything but willing to witness the death of another. 'I was hammering a blade. You should see it; the edge is sharp and keen. I took your advice and added a wider fuller. It's less decorative but much more effective at guttering the blood away.'

 

'Well who wants blood on their hands? Makes the handle slippery and harder to control.'

 

'It promises to be a really good sword, so I would like to use it in action to see just how good it is.' I had no qualms at all about killing humans in battle because it was a fair fight, but captives were unable to retaliate on an equal basis, therefore the thrill and reason were lost.

 

'You know I would rather you stay here in the stronghold with me. You are my son, and I would be beside myself with sorrow if anything happened to you.' He stopped and hugged me to his chest. 'Do you realise how precious you are to me?'

 

'You always say that. I am sure I will be all right against a few vellum merchants and a couple of warriors.'

 

Father sighed. 'Well, all right. But I do not do this willingly.'

 

'I promise, I will be all right.' I remember laughing and taking his arm. 'Come, let us enjoy lighter things. I came to get you because some of the orcs are putting on a re-enactment of the elves crossing the Helcaraxë. It promises to be most amusing, indeed they won't start until you arrive.'

 

Father stared for a flicker of a moment. I should have taken more notice of it, but it never occurred to me that I should. He smiled and readily agreed, but all the way through the play I wondered what the look meant. One cannot ponder on such things forever, so in the end I dismissed it from my mind."

 

My captor, an elf who I had been taught to fear above all others, waited patiently as I cleared my throat. Not a drop of water had passed my lips since the previous day and my mouth felt uncomfortably dry. He took a sip of his tea while I waited for his permission to resume talking.

 

"I appreciate you not using your father's name in my realm. As I said when you first arrived, names have power. Would you like a drink before continuing?" Elrond carefully placed a bone china teacup back on its saucer. He looked up at a guard who stepped forward and held a cup of tea to my lips so I could drink.

 

"Thank you." I drank down to the bottom of the cup.

 

Elrond walked over to the window as I watched. He looked out and waved to someone before turning away with a grin on his face. Looking at one of the guards behind me, he said that his elfling was playing in the sandpit and had stamped on the sandcastle her mother was building for her. Looking up at the guard I could see him grinning at the antics of his child.

 

I had been brought up to fear Lord Elrond, but he seemed a good elf, and was consistently so during his questioning of me. Father had always impressed upon me how terrible and cruel he was, and how he filled his captives with terror and the utmost dread before killing them slowly and revelling in their agony. Yet another lie from his devious lips.

 

I sat in a metal chair, my wrists secured with thick metal bands to integrated armrests and my ankles fastened to metal fixings below. There was no pain, and I had not been tortured. In all, I had been treated very well. Whilst being very aware that I had a special status, I was sure that other prisoners would be treated justly as well.

 

"You were allowed to go." Elrond turned to face me, his expression unreadable. He would not say Father's name, and sometimes it made my narrative harder because I was not allowed to either.

 

"I travelled with a smallish group of Easterlings and Orcs, and our aim was to waylay the travelling party of elves. For nearly a week we travelled, passing through Morgul Vale and past Minas Morgul, which I am told was once fair, although it is hard to see now. We navigated our way through the orc made tunnels to avoid the daughter of Ungoliant and emerged at the far end of the Cirith Ungol pass, whereupon we took up position in the overlooking high rocks in the northern section of the Ephel Dúath range.

 

 Ufûrz, an orc with a red face painted with black lines to increase the effect of his fearsome appearance, crouched beside me. To my left was Anghâsh known for crushing the bones of his victims between his teeth, preferably as they watched.

 

Behind us a group of orcs and an equal number of Easterlings laid low. We knew no one could see us. All we had to do was wait. In the meantime, they whispered tales of battles and boasted of their kills. Then their bravado slipped into maudlin remembrance of their dead, as it always does when warriors have time on their hands.

 

At the early dawn an army of Gondorians emerged from Minas Tirith. They marched towards the Anduin Bridge, no doubt to welcome the party of elves. 'They are of a large number, so this complicates things a little,' I said to the others. 'There are not enough of us to defeat them if they do meet up with the elves. Looking at their size I would venture that they are waiting for more than just a few merchants.'

 

'We need back up,' Anghâsh murmured, unable to see as far as me. 'I doubt we are going to get any though.' He looked towards the fortress at the head of the pass and shook his head. 'We should move upriver and take the elves there.'

 

'Can you see the elves yet?' Ufûrz crouched lower, as if he thought the Gondorian troops might spot our party.

 

'No, not yet. We have some time.' I stared at the thick silver line of the Anduin, pondering how fast we could get there and where they might be. 'The Gondorians cannot see us, their eyes are not as good as mine, so we could possibly catch the elves as they make their way down.'

 

We ran through the North Ithilien countryside, taking cover in the trees and hardly stopping for breaks as we made our way to the Anduin.

 

'Stop. Quiet.' We watched from a high ridge as a large army of elves passed on the other side of the river, using the trees as cover. 'Vellum merchants, my arse!'

 

'We cannot take them but we can die trying.' Ufûrz did not seem too enthusiastic. The Easterlings were already muttering about being sent as fodder.

 

'It is our duty to kill as many as we can,' Anghâsh said quickly. His words belied the unwilling look on his face.

 

'It is our duty to make our way back as fast as we can and report what we have seen. This is a force sent for war. We will live to fight another day.' The Easterlings seemed relieved and the orcs, even though they laughed at them, did not object to leaving. I thought I was demonstrating decisive leadership, plus I had reasons of my own for retreating. Over the past year I had entered into a forbidden friendship and eventually a liaison with the elfwoman who cleaned my quarters. Her name was Cothiel, and I adored her. Even though love in a place like that will always be doomed, I really hoped that one day my father would accept her. I never told him because even I knew our situation was hopeless."

 

"How sad," Lord Elrond said as he sat down in his chair again. If anything he looked cynical.

 

"It took just over a week for us to return.

 

'I am so pleased to see you back, and with no casualties.' Father idly toyed with a glowing stone ball before laying it on the table and covering it with a heavy, black silk cloth. He handed a glass of wine to me but took none for himself.

 

'They were not vellum merchants, Father. The Gondorians are gathering for battle and a huge company of elves have joined them. We got back as quickly as we could to warn you.'

 

'Warn me? Warn me about a situation I already know about?' He took the cloth away from the stone ball. 'This is a Palantír. It tells me all I want to know. Look and tell me what you see.'

 

I was confused, but held myself as I stared. The brilliant light cleared. 'I can see the elves and Gondorians meeting up.' I looked up at him, my heart filled with apprehension. 'I do not understand. If you knew, why did you allow me to take a party to intercept them?'

 

'Look again at the ball.' Father glared at me.

 

'We are making our way to the Anduin and now we are turning back.'

 

'Look again!'

 

The ball showed a new vision. I lay in bed with Cothiel. We were laughing.

 

'How can I trust you?'

 

'I have never deceived you. It was sex, that was all.' My heart filled with the utmost dread as I feared for her. I had hoped to ensure her safety by keeping our affair secret. I knew escape was impossible, but I had always hoped that we could find some happiness together and I could protect her from harm.

 

'Of course, I have killed her, and she will never have her unborn baby.'

 

'What?' The floor was dropping away and the room spun. The wineglass shattered on the floor. My words came out thickly, 'I had no idea.'"

 

"It is unlikely that Cothiel was pregnant." Lord Elrond shook his head. "You would have both known at the point of conception."

 

"You are certain?" I grasped at his words, hoping with all my heart that he was right.

 

Lord Elrond nodded and I sighed with relief. Cothiel was surely dead and I felt an immense amount of guilt that I could not have helped more, but the death of a vulnerable innocent who had no idea of what was to come had been especially hard to bear.

 

"When I awoke, I was suspended by the wrists with not a stitch of clothing on my body. I was in the torture cell. Surely not? Surely Father would not do this to me. Had my loyalty counted for nothing? Perhaps it was a vision, but no, it was real. I looked up. The blackness above was so murky and far reaching that I could not see where the chains were fixed. To the side stood a brazier with a knife heating in the red coals; I recognised it as one I had made for him as a present. On the blade was a graven message saying First Among Princes. Below my feet the stone floor gleamed black, as if newly polished. The whole place smelt of death, and of urine and faeces from when prisoners lost control of their bodies. I was one of them now. My life counted for nothing.

 

His soft voice came from behind. 'As you know Erestor, I do not take disloyalty lightly.'

 

'I was never disloyal!' I shouted for all I was worth, pulling wildly at the chains, hoping to escape. It was all I had left.

 

'You loved someone other than me, and yet I tried so hard to bring you up properly and not let anything here touch you.'

 

'Father...'

 

'Do not call me 'Father'. You are not my son anymore.'

 

'Yes I am. You love me. You always say you love me.' The cold chill of fear shot through me as sweat beaded on my skin. He took the knife from the brazier as I looked around wildly for help. Then the pain came and I could hear myself screaming from somewhere outside of myself as agony and blackness ripped through my very being.

 

He held two pieces of bloodless skin and gristle up to my face. 'These are the tips of your ears. Until they grow back your powers will be non-existent. Not that they will have a chance to ever reform after I have finished with you. Still, it's the thought that counts.'

 

'What powers?' I screamed, the fight having not yet left me, even though my face was wet with tears. It took a few moments to realise the warmth on my neck came from the blood dripping down from my ears. 'I never had any powers.'

 

'You know so little.' Father smiled as if remembering a happier time. 'When you were born, the ball showed your betrayal, and yet I hoped things would be different. I could never let you use the powers that came from being my son. You might have tried to usurp me, and that would never do. For years I held your powers at bay, but when you chose to love another you turned your back on me. Hate is as powerful, perhaps more so, than love and I will not  
risk you turning my own power upon me through that hate. I concentrated that  
power in the tips of your ears while you were drugged, and now they are removed.'

 

'I do not hate you.' Emotion would take away the clarity of my situation and I desperately needed to concentrate.

 

'Well you should.' He seemed surprised. 'I would if I were you.'

 

'I will waste no emotion on you.'

 

'Really? That is equivalent to hate.' Father put the pieces of skin, the tips of my ears, into his mouth and ate them. 'Delicious.'"

 

"How repulsive." Lord Elrond shook his head as he stood up. I felt his fingers touching my left ear. "They are healed, but there is no sign of the tips growing back. Please continue." He sat back down.

 

"'You knew the vellum merchants story was a lie, didn't you Father?' I do not even know why I said it to him. Of course he did.

 

'Yes indeed. I made it up myself. The man told me nothing at all. He was braver than you.'

 

'You willingly allowed your son to face his death? How disappointed you must have been when I came back.' The streams of blood from my ears continued to run down my neck, flowing like a lazy river down my chest, making soft noises as the drips hit the floor. The exposed tips felt cold and raw, stinging with pain. My time was nearly over, so now I could say what I liked. There was nothing to lose.

 

'The Palantír showed me the army of elves and men, so I used it to my advantage. I knew you would want to attack, the bait was there and you greedily took it. Well, I had hoped to mourn your death and use it as a validation for attacking Gondor again, but you have spoilt that.' He gave an exaggerated sigh and delicately stepped away from the spots of blood dripping close to his feet. After shrugging and giving me a huge smile, he announced that he would do it anyway.

 

'What happens now?' I asked, fearing the answer. Cothiel once told me that elves go to the Halls of Awaiting when they die; perhaps such a place would be willing to take me too. I was only half an elf, but maybe that would be enough.

 

'Before I go, would you like to see my true appearance? I have used glamour to stop you from seeing who I really am, but I can indulge you if you want.' Father didn't wait for a reply. 'Why am I giving a mere prisoner choices? Here, look at me.'

 

My eyes gazed upon a vision of the utmost dread and horror. I admit to howling my terror as my limbs tried to break through their bonds so I could escape the monster in the room. The sharp taste of fear as my tongue dried made my voice coarse as I screamed for him not to touch me. 'Change back. Change back!' It mattered not that the skin on my wrists tore as I struggled against the cruel metal cuffs, kicking wildly and hoping with all my might it didn't come nearer. But even worse was the sharp feeling of revulsion and disgust that I had once loved the thing before me. And I still feel that; even now the memory causes me to shudder because I cannot separate Father from who he really is. His lips kissed me goodnight as an elfling and he comforted me when nightmares disturbed my sleep. He had embraced me as a father does to a son on many occasions, but underneath the facade it was the monster who held me, whose vile mouth spoke the words that made me love the deception. In my imaginings I wonder if I am also a monster underneath because he is my parent. I also wonder if that was how he appeared to Cothiel in her final moments? I still hope with all my heart I was wrong, but I doubt it.

 

Father laughed at me as he assumed his mantel of glamour. 'Feed him to the wargs.' Anghâsh the orc nodded subserviently and I felt betrayed. Had I not saved him from being killed only days before? 'You can kill him first if you like,' he added as an afterthought before leaving.

 

'Being eaten by wargs is better than being in the same room as you,' I shouted, knowing the situation to be hopeless. 'I hope the enemy thrash your arse and you die horribly. There is a reason you never go into battle - you are a coward, you always skulk behind the lines while everyone else dies for you!' In the distance, I heard his laughter. That was when I knew I truly hated him, and would do so until the end of time and even whilst dead.

 

'Quiet,' Anghâsh said softly. 'We have a plan. You saved our lives, so we will save yours. In spite of what your father thinks, our lives are important to us, just as yours is to you. Play along. I do not know who I can trust and I will not die for you.'

 

I was astonished but ready to fall in with anything he suggested to me. 'Thank you,' I whispered. He stared at me and put his fingers to his lips, so I said nothing more.

 

Anghâsh went over to a cell on the far side of the dungeon and threw open the door. The prisoner inside pleaded not to be killed and then an animalistic scream rang through the air, accompanied by the unmistakeable, almost sucking sound of a blade being pulled from flesh. If the dread creature, who had once called me his son was listening he would have assumed they were my final moments. A dead human with black hair, who was about the same size as myself, was carried out of the cell and flung down a trapdoor to the howling warg pack below. I hoped he would not look into the Palantír, not that he had time to get back to his room, because then he might see the deception before we could escape."

 

"You were fortunate." Lord Elrond looked at me, suspicion in his eyes. Who could blame him? No elf ever escaped Mordor.

 

"Anghâsh was of the opinion that I would be safe, after all, hadn't the monster heard my final moments, or what he thought to be them? Anyway, it was unlikely he would give me further thought, he had a battle to plan."

 

"You call him a monster. How did he change from loved to monster so swiftly?" Elrond raised an eyebrow, showing his disbelief. "Not even an abused child learns to hate so quickly."

 

"I didn't hate him until he showed me his true appearance; it was that of a monster, one that lurks in the deepest, darkest imaginings, the sort where the mind rapidly abandons sleep to escape the terror and dares not go back again, even though it really doesn't exist except as an image. I am still his son, and it revolts me to think that I might become like that too."

 

"He was made that way by the Valar so that all might recognise him for who he is. He didn't always look that way; apparently, he was one of the fairest of beings when he was young. It is of interest that he has found a way to overcome it."

 

"When I asked Anghâsh about it he said he had always seen him as a terrifying monster and wondered how I could hug one so repulsive. It's quite something when an orc is disgusted by someone's appearance."

 

Elrond smiled. "Indeed. Continue."

 

"I was smuggled out through the blood sluice. It's called that even though it is for all the prisoners bodily fluids and waste, and even some body parts. My heart thumped as the fear of being caught consumed me. At the start of the sluice the smell was bearable but as we descended under the stronghold and had to wade through the bubbling filth the stench became intolerable. The sweet, rotting smell of decomposing flesh, shit and vomit caught in my throat. Anghâsh chuckled when I emptied my stomach. As we waded along I gagged so hard and continually that I could hardly carry on. Throughout the walk, I could feel the filth seeping into where he had sliced open my skin and the stinging was intense, but I overcame the pain because escape was more important than succumbing. In the end, we reached the sluice gate opening onto a brick lined canal that fed into an underground stream, but did not go through. We were met by Gizik, one of the Easterlings; Anghâsh would be missed if he stayed any longer. Gizik and I waited for night to come before going through the gate. I hoped I could trust him, but I had no choice really. All I knew about him was that he was one of the party I took to meet the vellum merchants, so I hoped that would be enough for him not to alert my escape to the one who was once my father."

 

"He still is your father," Elrond said quickly. "For that reason alone you are secured to this chair."

 

"Lord Elrond, I am well aware that I have swapped one prison for another." I hoped not to offend him but I was probably more cognizant than any of the elves in that room about how perilous my situation was. "Anyway, as we passed through the sluice gate and climbed out of the canal I could smell fresh air, or what passes for it in Mordor. Compared to the sluice it was the sweetest air I had ever breathed.

 

We walked to the nearby encampment; the Easterling warriors have their barracks just outside the fortress. Beyond, in the distance, are the farms; the volcanic soil and warmth from underground enables crops to grow year round.  I was to make my way to the nearest farm house. There I would meet a man called Yaban."

 

A light knock on the door stopped Erestor's flow. A serving girl entered the room and placed a tray in front of Lord Elrond. He thanked her as she left. Then he poured tea into a white china cup painted with a rim of delicate purple flowers. A silver tray contained many sandwiches with several different types of fillings. I looked away, knowing that I would not be able to have one because I was a prisoner and not worthy of the finer things that Imladris had to offer. It was wryly amusing that I should think of a sandwich in that way, when I was used to luxury in my former life.

 

"Continue," Elrond mumbled, after finishing an egg sandwich. "Happily, gory descriptions are unlikely to put me off my food."

 

"I made my way to the nearest farm and met Yaban. He was a fearsome looking man, large and hale, yet I had the impression he had once been much larger.

 

'Get this on,' he said gruffly, handing me the garb of a farm girl, "and put this salve over your cuts so they don't get infected. You were in that slurry for quite a while." I stood covered in a thick ointment with a towel wrapped around my chest; apparently his wife had instructed that I wash the filth of the sluice from my body before entering the house. "If the Lord finds out you are still alive he will be looking for a boy, not a girl." He was not an unkind man, just nervous about being caught. I could empathise with how he felt, in light of my recent experience.

 

A woman came into the room bearing a covered tray of food and I started with fear. 'There is no need to be frightened of us,' she said softly. 'I am Kuzu. You made sure my son lived to fight another day. He is eighteen and our only child.'

 

"We owe you for that.' Yaban took an empty pack from the corner and started filling it with black bread, pickles and cold meat. "This will keep you going until you get further up the river. I will see you through Cirith Ungol and then you are on your own. Our debt will be discharged."

 

'You do not owe me for making sure your son stayed safe.' I meant it as well.

 

'Then I won't take you.' Yaban looked at me before grinning. 'Ha! You should see your face.'

 

'He will take you.' Kuzu chuckled before telling her husband that not everyone understood his sense of humour. 'The horses are ready.'

 

We made our way to Cirith Ungol during the night, galloping as fast as our horses could take us.

 

'You are putting yourselves in danger. What if we are spied upon?'

 

Yaban shrugged. 'I do not fear dying. Anyway, if my son had been killed my wife would have no one. '

 

'She has you.'

 

'My life is coming to an end; I have the sickness from working in the Lord's mines. Two years ago I was twice the size I am now. When I die, my son, Borlad, will be allowed leave from the army and can work the farm. I hope.' Yaban looked me in the eyes. 'Retreat may be dishonourable, but you did the right thing, and I will always be eternally grateful. Your father has never cared for any of our lives.'

 

What could I say? He was right.

 

The horses were left to graze on the scrub near the pass as we made our way through the mountain using the orc dug tunnels to bypass Shelob's lethal, web filled chambers, but they were not always safe; she was perfectly able to knock through walls or make her way down the less narrow tunnels. We carried our swords and communicated using hand signals until we saw light on the other side. The Valar must have been smiling upon us both because she did not seem aware of our presence, although we did hear movement that seemed perilously close at times.

 

'You are on your own now,' Yaban whispered as we emerged from the pass. He had to go back the way we came and did not want to alert the dread spider. 'Keep heading in that direction. Follow the river and do not stray into Gondor, chances are they already know your face there. You are the spitting image of your father, after all.' He gave me a map and we looked at it together. 'Go North and stay on this side of the river; remember you are travelling against the current. It will take you many days to find the elven strongholds, but keep going past them. There is a witch in the guise of a beautiful lady who rules the forest on the right. To the left is Mirkwood, but don't go there either. Both places are highly dangerous.'

 

'I did used to live in Dol Guldur.' I grinned and Yaban said rather me than him.

 

"Keep going until you reach the Old Forest Road. Where it reaches the river it's known as Old Ford. Cross the river and turn left. There is a pass through the mountains. I am not sure about what lies on the other side, probably just scrubland like here, but you might meet some elves who would be willing to take you with them. You are a strong lad, I am sure you could find work in one of the settlements, if there are any.'

 

'I will tell them that not all Easterlings are bad, my friend.'

 

'You will do no such thing, unless you want a spear through your guts. You are an elf and you will be expected to live as one and have certain views. You will show no sympathy for the enemy. Is that clear?'

 

I nodded.

 

'Good lad. You are changing sides because you have no choice. Don't get sentimental about any of the people you have left behind, because they won't be about you. Now go on your way and good luck. Keep your head low and don't broadcast who you are. If your father finds out you are alive he will come after us like a scorching wind and none of us will survive.' He gripped my shoulder, his eyes earnest. 'Don't let any of us down.'

 

'I won't. I promise.' I walked away. After a few yards I looked back to wave but he was already gone."

 

 "So you look exactly like your father?" Elrond cocked an eyebrow.

 

"In the mirror there is little difference between us, but I would venture that is where our similarities end." 

 

"What exactly did Yaban mean when he said not to let him down? Is there another purpose to your escape?" Elrond held a finger sandwich in his hand; he didn't eat it, nor did he put it back on the plate.

 

"I assume he meant that I wasn't to put myself in a position where the Lord of Mordor might become aware of my existence."

 

"He has a way of seeing what happens in his realm. Yaban would not know about it but you do. I fear your brave friends are probably dead or imprisoned simply because they helped you, or the whole set up was an elaborate ruse and he will welcome you home with open arms when you have achieved your purpose here.'

 

"But he cut my ear tips off!" How could Elrond think that, and yet, on reflection, why wouldn't he? "I knew my helpers would be in danger; living in Mordor is precarious to every being there, but surely he wouldn't need to look at the Palantír if he thought I was already dead?"

 

"Ah, naivety is obviously your strong point. A Palantír can only show what the person on the other end is doing; he is using another way of spying on his own people and chose to tell you that was it, even though the stone would have looked exactly like one. He had a reason for telling you it was a palantír, and I doubt he would have bothered if you really were going to be killed in his dungeon. In any case, the instructions Yaban gave you were too specific, and for all we know you might have agreed to your ear tips being removed. Anything for the cause, eh? He directed you here. Your father probably showed him the exact point on the map he gave you. He has been trying to find my realm for some time." Elrond ate the sandwich while I watched, hoping with all my heart that his thinking was in error.

 

"So he will know that I am alive and here?"

 

"He will know you are alive, but he knows nothing of this place. Indeed, he probably cannot see far beyond the borders of his realm. From what you have told me his vision might only extend a small way beyond the pass and upwards to the Falls of Rauros, certainly not as far as Isengard anyway."

 

"This realm is not on any of his maps. In fact, I did not know this realm existed until the elves on this side of the pass took me here. However, I knew of you."

 

"I have no doubt you knew of me." Lord Elrond smiled. "Your father probably taught you to fear me."

 

"From what I now know, I think he was probably describing himself."

 

Lord Elrond ordered a guard to release one of my hands. He took it and studied the palm and fingers, then held my hand as a friend would. The grip was gentle, but firm enough to deter me from trying to pull away. On his finger a blue stoned ring glowed dully. "Have you ever killed an elf?"

 

"No." The ring shone brightly before dimming.

 

"Have you ever tortured an elf?"

 

"No, but occasionally I was made to watch. There were very few elves in Mordor. Cothiel was given to me because I objected to orcs cleaning my room; they tend to throw things around instead of putting them away properly, and they can be quite clumsy as well."

 

"Are you part of a grand deception?"

 

"No."

 

"Are you a spy?"

 

"No." Each time I answered the ring sparkled with light.

 

"Do you hate your father?"

 

"I hate what he did and who he showed himself to be. I also hate how he abused and tortured me. I still do not understand how he could turn his back on his child and part of me longs for what we once had. You have to understand, my father was wonderful up until that point. He was everything any son could ever hope for, simply because I knew no better. I wonder why he bothered with the facade knowing that one day I would be expendable." My heart ached and I had to pause to stop myself from being overcome before continuing. Elrond waited, still holding onto my hand. I gave a half smile. "When I was small, he used to sit me on his knee and tell me stories, most of them involving the wicked Lord Elrond, who was the trickiest elf alive. We would both have a cup of hot chocolate. When the story finished I had to drink what was left, and then he would sing to me until I fell asleep." I shrugged as a new memory came to mind. "As I grew, the stories about you became more sinister, and he made me swear that I would never let myself be captured by you. He detailed a whole list of tortures that I would endure if captured, and yet none of that has happened so far. I realise now that he must fear you above all elves."

 

As I spoke the ring lit up the room, so bright that the guards shielded their eyes. I had no such luxury as it burnt into my vision, even with my eyes shut.

 

"This ring says you are telling the truth. Congratulations, Lord Nàmo will not be collecting you today. Now eat." He let go of my hand and looked up at the guards. "Release his other hand then leave us."

 

I ate the sandwiches, trying not to appear greedy. Lord Elrond remarked that I must be very hungry. He poured a cup of tea and asked if I trusted him as he did so.

 

I looked up. "I would like to."

 

"You are your father's son, yet your powers are almost non-existent."

 

"I don't have any at all."

 

"You really do not believe you have any. Do you?"

 

"I know I do not. They were taken from me. I saw him eat the tips of my ears, and he swallowed them."

 

"You have told me much and you didn't even try to bargain so you could keep your life. Why is that?"

 

I shrugged. "You do not look like the type of elf who would be susceptible to bargaining. But, you also do not look like the type of elf who would kill just for the sake of doing so."

 

Elrond raised an eyebrow and gave me an enquiring smile.

 

"You saved my life. Surely you would not have done so if you meant to kill me? In any case you would have interrogated me while I was recovering, not waited until now."

 

"I would save the life of any elf who had been attacked by a party of orcs. Did you recognise any of them?"

 

"No." I sighed, eyebrows furrowed. "I should have known them, but I didn't."

 

"Did they recognise you?"

 

"No, not at all. They attacked me because I am an elf. That's when your party appeared and cut them down."

 

"Yes. You were poisoned by an orc blade and we nearly lost you. That's when you let go of all your secrets. Everything you told me I knew already, but I needed to see how honest you are."

 

"That makes sense."

 

Elrond appeared to be coming to a decision within himself; after a few moments of studying my face he took a sandwich from the plate before us and ate half of it before speaking. All the while I wondered what he would say. "I want you to advise us on the enemy. You have lived with the dread one, so you know him, and you know how he thinks. Of course, you will be watched at all times, but I am hoping any advice or insights you can give us will be sound. Vilya will be a second check on your information. If you refrain from falsehood you will find this rather a pleasant place to live."

 

"I will do anything I can to help. Perhaps if I had not seen the vile monster he really is I might have a shred of reluctance, but I did see him and he is still in my head."

 

Vilya glowed brightly again. "I need to find out if he really is in your head or if you have a memory that has etched itself into your mind."

 

"That is something I desire to know myself."

 

"Could you father have eaten your ear tips so he had a part of you within him and thus a connection?"

 

Panic seized my being. Speech eluded me, instead I emitted a strange cross between a scream and a thin, high pitched wail. The monster inside my head watched, unmoving. Gripping my mutilated ears, I pulled at my head, as if trying to flush away the dreadfulness, shaking hard until I felt Elrond's hands upon mine.

 

I heard him gasp, before regaining his legendary control. "It's an illusion, Erestor. The monster isn't there."

 

"It is there. Get it out. I can see it!"

 

Elrond moved behind me. Both hands pressed on my scalp and he murmured quietly. My hands suddenly drained of energy, falling to my sides as if paralysis had taken over. Gradually the vision of the monster faded and I allowed myself to breathe. Elrond had saved me from the dark insanity that must surely accompany constantly seeing such an image.

 

"You were given the vision as a parting gift, to torture your mind and drive you insane, just in case you were able to escape, even though in the circumstances it was highly unlikely. That much I can divine, so it seems he really did expect you to die. I saw the monster. I saw what was in your head."

 

"Perhaps he meant you to see it?"

 

 "I doubt it. What would he gain by showing me his true appearance? If anything appears in your head again you must say so immediately, so I can remove it. Maybe that is the first of several visions, or maybe not."

 

"It could happen again? No, no, that cannot be!" I looked around wildly. The walls pointed inwards and the floor spun around before everything went black. The darkness gripped my very being and I couldn't fight as I was dragged down into insensibility. Somewhere in my fading consciousness I heard Elrond telling someone that I had been overcome with shock. Just before being completely overwhelmed I felt his hands upon my head again, so I fought no more. I trusted him.

 


	2. Purple Flowers

Erestor squatted on the frozen ground, facing away from the accommodation sheds. His bony fingers picked up a discarded plastic flower. Light-faded, purple petals surrounded a pale yellow centre. Where had it come from? In a sea of bleak white and various shade of greys he had found a spot of colour. After putting it carefully into his pocket he walked away, wondering why his conversation with Elrond had come to mind. For years he had thought of the past but just lately the events of long ago seemed to gain a sharper focus and played incessantly in his mind.

 

'If only I was back there,' Erestor thought as he trudged towards the medical block, a whitewashed shed housing the sick and the injured from the mines. One year ago, when he was newly arrived at the gulag in Kolyma, someone had decided that he shouldn't go into the mines but work in the hospital block. He was eternally grateful to whoever made that decision. It was hard work, but at least he wasn't underground, working until he dropped from exhaustion, or was injured, or even dead.

 

Out of habit, he pulled his thin woolly hat further down the sides of his head. Both hands covered his ears as he trudged across the dirty ice, feeling every bump through his thin soles. The jagged scars where the tips were sliced away from his ears had always been affected by the cold, and sometimes the pain had been unbearable. Elrond told him that Sauron had damaged the nerve endings and they would resolve in time, but it never happened.  However, this morning his pain was much less, almost non-existent, and he noticed a definite forming of a point at the top of each ear. They seemed slightly bigger every time he touched them.  Erestor pondered for a fleeting moment what would happen when the tips were fully formed. At the rate they were growing it had to be very soon, perhaps within the next hour. He touched his ear tips again and they were slightly more formed. What could it mean? Would he regain the powers he once unknowingly possessed? If so, what were his powers and how would he know to use them? Then he sighed and turned his attention to walking on the ice without slipping. There was only so much time he could give to idle thought.

 

o0o0o0o

 

"What do you think of Boromir?" Glorfindel asked quietly, because he knew he should not be talking of such things where he could be overheard. We stood in a small anteroom under an overlarge painting of the harbour of Mithlond. The door was open and he looked up at the art, as if he had always been looking at it when a group of residents hurried past. Then he turned back to face me.

 

"What do _you_ think?" I was not going to supply his opinion for him or give him an advanced hint of what might be in my mind.

 

"I would rather hear it from your mouth, after all you seem to know about such things." His eyes flashed with arrogant amusement as his lips curved into a tiny smile at the corners. "You have an opinion on just about everything and everyone. I would think that one who spends his life being watched would take more care."

 

"Yes I have an opinion, and I do know about 'such' things. That is because I am an adviser, whereas you are a mere warrior." He could bugger off.

 

"Maybe so, but I can wander where I like."

 

"It would be a wonder to all if your brain matched your ability to go where you please."

 

How happy I was to hear his exasperated sigh. "Oh, come on! You must agree that Boromir is prone to human weakness, after all he is one. I fear to see his reaction when Elrond shows him the ring. He will be greed and lust for power personified."

 

"That doesn't follow, does it? Boromir commands an army that under his leadership excels at holding back the advancing hordes of Mordor, a hard and self-sacrificial task at best, but you think he is weak because he is human. Haven't you anything better to be doing with your time other than pursuing my opinions so you can present them as your own?"

 

"How dare you!" Glorfindel was possessed of great wisdom, but when taunted he tended to bite too easily. "Yes, Boromir is weak. Mentally and emotionally weak. Like all humans he desires power and anything from the ground that shines golden or is studded with rough gems. Anyway, I have never presented your opinions as my own!"

 

"First of all, I dare what I like; you know that. Secondly, has no elf in history been mentally weak or corrupt? I can think of a few." I had a lesser knowledge of the elves than he, but I was steadily working my way through the Elven Chronicles and trying to strike a balance between my earlier education and what the elves recorded. Neither were wholly likely.

 

"No you can't. Elves are above that sort of thing."

 

"All right then." I turned away and looked at a painting on the opposite wall.

 

"I hate it when you do that. You do not mean it at all."

 

"Oh well." It was too easy.

 

"You are not going to get me like that."

 

I shrugged and gave him a genuine smile. "But I already did."

 

Glorfindel marched across the room and shut the door, before sliding the bolt across.

 

"What about Elrond?" I tried not to show that I was enjoying his anger.

 

"What about Elrond?"

 

"Well, he is meeting us here."

 

"He will have to wait outside."

 

"Naughty Glorfindel." I believe I raised my left eyebrow. "What will Lord Elrond say when you are caught in a locked room with the one you are supposed to be guarding? He will think you are having an affair with me and that would never do."

 

"You live a pretty free life for an elf who has to be watched because of who his father is." His finger stroked the lobe of my right ear as his face came closer. Was he going to try kissing me? The heady notes of Elanor wafted from his neck. "It's a shame your ears tips have never grown back. I believe I could fancy you if they had."

 

Anger surged through my being and I kicked his kneecap hard. He fell down, but not all the way to the floor, quickly regaining his balance by grabbing at a decorative rail and pulling himself up. By the time he went to take hold of me I had shot across the room and unbolted the door.

 

Why did he think he could treat me that way? It had always been the same, ever since he was told of my origins. At our first meeting he was friendly and then everything changed. Several times when he was sober and every time when he was drunk I had to listen to how he was killed by the balrog, but it was no use saying I was not responsible because he considered me born of the same evil that formed his bane. I did tell him that Morgoth was not my father but he was too angry to even listen. He also berated Elrond for trusting me too much. Elrond tartly replied that Vilya made his decision for him and that I had always told him the truth, so he could keep his mouth shut and carry on with his duties. I suppose dying in agony, especially when one thinks they have won the battle, is a cause for extreme anger but he had pushed me to the point where I couldn't feel any empathy at all. He had none for me, so why should I?

 

"What is going on?" Elrond swept through the door as Glorfindel examined his red knee. He wore a solitary purple flower amulet with a shining yellow jewel around his neck, over a plain grey, shimmering robe. "I could hear you up the corridor."

 

"The bastard kicked me."

 

"Yes I did. I will not be insulted," I said quickly. Elrond took my hand and Vilya shone. A fleeting look full of despair at the two naughty children before him became a smile. He turned to my would-be nemesis.

 

"Glorfindel, would you rather another elf watched over Erestor? Neither of you seem to get along."

 

Glorfindel was quick to refuse; sensing our suspicion he said he was the only elf who could guard one as slippery as me.

 

"I will take Erestor with me while you sort your knee out." Elrond bade me to go through the door and wait outside. He pulled the door behind him, but there was still a small slit enabling me to hear what he said. He informed Glorfindel that love and attraction present in many forms. There was the edge of humour in his voice and so I smiled, especially at Glorfindel's loud and angry reply full of protestations and insults about myself. I chuckled quietly and then stepped smartly out of the way when the door opened again.

 

Oh dear! Glorfindel had fallen for my fatal, ear snipped, beauty!

 


	3. Gulag

 

 

 

 

 

Why had he thought of that scene in particular? There were many happier times with Glorfindel, once he had overcome his prejudices and acknowledged his sneaking admiration for one who had escaped the enemy. Erestor opened the door to the infirmary. The smell of fear and despair, the quiet moaning, and the bodily emissions of dying and injured patients assailed him and would do so for the next fourteen hours. It would be worse if there was heating, but there wasn't, except for a small brazier in the corner of the room, which was at present unlit.

 

Looking back to happier times gave him the strength to carry on, as did certain actions he carried out every day that had meaning only to himself. If his thoughts were elsewhere they were not in his present, just as maintaining certain habits gave him the will to survive because rituals carried meaning in a life where there were none. One of them was to wash his face every day, even if it meant scooping the snow outside and rubbing it over his cheeks. Erestor saw the men who stopped taking care of themselves, and they died quicker. He wasn't going to be one of them because his need to counter an old evil was becoming stronger, especially in the past year.

 

Briefly he pondered why things were changing for him now, whereas he seemed to live in a state of dormancy before, spending his time tracing worldwide events that might indicate the malign influence of his father and piecing them together to find a theme. Just under three years ago he thought he was close. For ten years Erestor worked for the British Embassy. Such employment could give him insights into worldwide events that were not available to the general public. His job took him to Russia; all was above board, but that did not stop him from being arrested as a spy a few months later. The evidence was non-existent, so his interrogator in Lubyanka prison could learn nothing from him. Lefotovo prison was his next stop and still he would tell them nothing, not that he could anyway. If they killed him, he would go to the Halls; Elrond had assured him of that. That took the edge off his fear, but he was not prepared for what came a few months later when he was transferred to Sukhanovo, the worst prison in the whole of Russia, where prisoners lost their sanity and few survived intact if death did not take them first.

 

Erestor was tortured, as all prisoners were, and nearly lost his life. The tenuous veil between life and death was tangible as he lay broken on the floor of his cell. Erestor reached to touch it, knowing the pain would cease once he passed through. Having given his quest his best attempt, he accepted failure. The veil would not break, and fleetingly he wondered why before a voice in his mind told him that he was not alone. She was speaking to him; a woman clothed in grey who possessed the kindest face, weeping tears that fell on his face and ran through his hair.

 

"I will be with you until the end, but your time is not now," she said before closing his eyes with her fingertips. Peace washed over his being and his mind accepted the silent darkness of unconsciousness.

 

After waking in a prison hospital, it took a while for him to realise he was in a different place. When he was recovered they informed him of his sentence: ten years in a Gulag. All hope left Erestor. Surely his quarry would have moved on by then? Then, after a year, the unexpected happened, his ear tips started growing back. He felt them again, now almost fully formed. Inside was a spark of hope; once again he could dare to dream.

 

Along the sides of the room were wood-slatted iron beds for the patients to sleep in. Close together, there was hardly any room to manoeuvre between them. The room smelled of cheap disinfectant, urine and faeces. But worse was the sweet, cloying odour of gangrenous limbs and lung diseases, caused by breathing in the dust while working in the mines. The stench of sweet, rotting flesh gripped the throat from the inside, as if the terror and suffering of the afflicted was contagious in some way. No amount of water could swill it away, and no one could become used to it. It was the taunting smell of horror, fear, and also death, where one's primal instinct is to run away rather than face the decomposing mortality of another, simply because it could happen to them too. But there was no running away in that room; he had to stay.

 

Erestor went to the nearest bed. "Arkady, I am back. How are you doing?" Kneeling down and gently taking hold of a cold and bony hand he waited for an answer. Arkady's habit was to lay on his side, covering his head and face with the thin blanket when he slept. Erestor gently pulled the edge away so he could see his face. "Arkady? Arkady!" The wide open, once red-rimmed eyes were already paling against the bloodless white skin. His hand was cold, but with little heating in the infirmary patients' extremities often were. "I am so sorry. Goodbye my friend." He whispered, lest he was heard by the others; no one could be trusted. Fishing in his pocket, he took the purple flower found outside on the frozen ground and enclosed it in Arkady's hand, fancying that the fast forming rigor mortis would set his fingers as a cage so he would always hold on to something beautiful in desolate surroundings. "I saw this on the ground and I hoped to show it to you. Maybe you can see it wherever you are." Unable to say anything more, he stood up and walked to the orderlies room. Outside the snow fell.

 

"Arkady has died." Erestor looked at the group of staff huddled together; he was the last to arrive.

 

Ignatiy, a bull-headed man who had once been large, met his eyes. "He won't be the first, nor the last."

 

Gala looked up, her pale blue eyes the only colour in a bloodless, wrinkled face. She smiled sadly, revealing several missing teeth. "Death was coming for him. He will not suffer anymore." She looked through the open doorway, over to Arkady's bed, before looking again at Erestor. "He was your friend, yes?"

 

Erestor nodded. "I didn't know him very well. He was so young. Seventeen. Just a child."

 

Miron, a long faced, lantern jawed orderly, with shaved head and watery grey eyes, was listening. Every inmate had to make snap decisions about who they could trust if they wanted to survive, and Erestor would have cheerfully snapped his neck if he could, simply for the reason that Miron didn't seem to be losing much weight since his arrival six months before, unlike the rest of the prisoners.

 

"Younger than my son before they sent me here." Gala looked tired, too fatigued to do anything except keep surviving, but recently that was becoming harder for her. Erestor wondered how long it would take before she gave up completely. He sat next to her and sighed sympathetically. A rough skinned hand stroked his cheek; Erestor noticed not for the first time that her fingernails were missing. He did not like to think of how she lost them. "Look at you. Life here is so tough and yet you remain handsome. You remind me of my son; he looked a bit like you, so I know you are handsome for a fact and not because I am a fanciful old woman."

 

"You are not old," Erestor said gently. The others around the table listened. Many hung on his words because of the unusual timbre of his voice and his ability to tell magical, wondrous stories of lands not of this world, where good fought evil, and men, elves, dwarves and hobbits were honourable and brave, taking them away from their reality and allowing emotions and imaginations to escape the bounds of previous limits. He felt it was an immense privilege that he was gifted with the ability to hold those who listened in a state of enthrallment and make them feel and believe that there really was a place where no one had to watch their every move, could sleep the whole night without fear of being dragged out of bed and interrogated during the early hours of the morning, could see flower speckled meadows and sharp spired mountains, feel the sunshine on their backs, and experience the simple pleasures of happiness and a family who would always be with them and not suddenly 'disappeared'.

 

"Gala, you are not old." Irina, the camp doctor, took her hand. "You just feel old. This will not be forever."

 

Gala took a deep breath and forced a smile. "Thank you, Irina." The two women looked at one another and Erestor thought he could see a moment of shared understanding, one that brought grief to both women before they turned away.

 

To lighten the conversation, and change the subject, Irina asked Erestor to tell her about his mother. "Why did she call you that? Erestor is not a Russian name."

 

"My mother died in childbirth, so I have no idea why she named me Erestor." His eyes darkened because he could still remember the ancient terror, even though he couldn't feel or see it anymore. "I lived with my father. He loved me but he was not all there, you know? I wasn't allowed to love anyone else, and when I did I saw him for the monster he truly was. But, that is life for some. Isn't it?"

 

"Poor Erestor." Gala's eyes shone. "No wonder you tell such wonderful stories. Isn't it said that all great storytellers have known tragedy?"

 

"Then we should all be great storytellers." Erestor laughed and Gala's smile became wider.

 

Ignatiy looked up. A hopeful grin spread across his face. "Last time you said you would tell us about the Battle of the Black Gate. We do not forget your wonderful stories and we always want to hear more. Will you tell us about it today?"

 

"For the patients as well?" Irina asked. "Nika asked when you were coming in. Talk to her Erestor, the TB is eating her alive, and she doesn't have long. When you talk to her she is able to sleep."

 

The main door opened and two guards walked into the building. They shouted for Erestor. Alarm spread through the room. Miron looked up, he did not seem scared; he was the only one and the others noticed. His composure was not lost on the terrified Gala. "What have you done now?" she whispered.

 

"You bastard," Ignatiy roared, before he could answer. He threw himself on Miron, punching him hard in the face and ribs so that he yelled to the guards for help. The others pulled them apart after they were ordered to stop. They waited until Miron had been thoroughly pummelled before doing so, and seemed to enjoy the spectacle of him being beaten

 

At that moment, Erestor stood motionless. A steely, restraining thinness snapped within him as if stretched to breaking point and was now severed. Power surged through his being and he saw as if previously blind. Automatically he felt the tips of his ears, they were fully grown, from budding tips in the early hours of the morning to now being fully formed. His time had come and he hoped he would know how to use the powers previously taken from him. Sauron had said that one day he would get them back, even though he was unaware of possessing them all those years ago before they were removed from him.

 

He knew all about Miron, with his new awareness. His fingers took hold of the informer's ear and twisted it hard, so he screamed like a pig having its throat cut. "He wouldn't have sex with you. Would he?"

 

Miron shouted that he had no idea what Erestor was talking about. The guards did nothing to support him, not even when Erestor let go of his ear and took him by the neck to hold his face to his own. They seemed to be enjoying the spectacle and loathe to stop it. It was only afterwards that Erestor wondered if his powers had influenced their non-intervention.

 

"Because Arkady wouldn't let you, a snivelling little rat bastard, fuck his arse you told the guards he criticised Stalin, and that is why they beat him so hard his bones were broken and he ended up in here. Then you stole his bread ration and offered it to one of the inmates in exchange for sex. You only gave him half of what you promised." He looked at the guards, who were staring in surprise, before turning his attention back to Miron. "You lied, and now a boy who never caused you any harm lies dead because you are a fucking, scaly, shit-faced, murdering, rapist bastard!"

 

"You fucking cunt! I didn't do anything!" Miron twisted round to face the guards when Erestor threw him back into the chair. His eyes pleaded, but it was too late; Miron's status was out in the open and he was of no use anymore. He swivelled back to Erestor, who stood like a god of vengeance about to deliver judgement. "You are a fucking liar! Arkady would give it to anyone or do anything for extra food. A person like that is bound to be caught out one day." Then his face changed, as if he saw something terrible before him. He screamed as his body let go and urine escaped in a widening circle, spreading a pool that seeped through his trousers. "Help me! Get him away from me!"

 

"I am your nemesis," Erestor said softly.

 

One of the guards pulled Miron out of his chair and dragged him out of the building while Erestor wondered what caused him to be so suddenly terrified. The group hardly reacted as they heard the single gunshot. The guard came back in. "He tried to escape." How like them to allow fighting and then to kill one of their own informers when they were of no use anymore. To break the endless ennui of working in a gulag the guards would often encourage fights, betting between themselves who would be the winner; many were just as vicious and sadistic as the criminal element, whom they allowed to keep control over the people who were serving sentences for political crimes against the state. Most had not asked to serve in Siberia, and so it became a prison sentence of sorts for them too, but that hardly excused their gleeful brutality.

 

"Erestor, you are to come with us." The other guard raised his gun, not to shoot but to ensure compliance.

 

Power continued to surge through Erestor's body, from his toes, to his fingers, and the top of his head. Tremendous strength was coursing through his being; hair standing on end and every nerve afire with a life he had never felt before. He was glowing, just like Glorfindel had so many years ago. In a small part of his mind he became aware that everyone was staring at him.

 

"Where are we going?" Erestor looked imperiously at the guards; they could not hurt him.

 

"Why is your skin so bright?" The guard looked uncertain. He raised his gun a little higher.

 

"Are you seeing things? I asked where we are going."

 

Irina spoke up. She was a doctor, not a prisoner, so she could speak without fear of consequence. "Erestor your body is glowing."

 

He looked at his hands. "I have no idea why." But Erestor knew. He had to escape the Gulag and go to Moscow, where he was convinced his target must be hiding. He had one last significant action to carry out before his life on Earth ended. From inside came the knowledge that the turning point had arrived. "I believe this is goodbye forever. I was so lucky to meet the three of you. Without your support I couldn't have carried on. You will remain in my heart until I die." He hugged his three co-workers, who were more friends than colleagues, and wished them health and happiness for the future before turning to the guards.

 

"Erestor, leave with us now." The guard tried to keep an even expression and not show his nervousness at the glowing man before him.

 

Gala bit her lip and a tear escaped from her eye before being hastily wiped away. The other two smiled compassionately, as if they knew they would not see him again, yet wanting to commit his face to memory and tacitly let him know they were doing so. After Erestor hugged Gala, Irina noticed that the colour had come back into her face, she seemed fresher somehow.

 

Erestor walked with the guards through the open door and left the infirmary forever. They seemed ill at ease but said nothing. To the right, a little way from the building, lay Miron's body. The other prisoners had already taken from him what they could use. It seemed fitting, but Erestor said nothing at all.


	4. Sparring.

 

"Elrond says you have to learn how to spar." Glorfindel did not look happy. Standing in the door frame he took up most of the entrance. "You haven't sparred with anyone since you arrived."

 

"I used to spar with orcs and men. I have even fought with them against the men of Gondor."

 

"Who are our allies." Glorfindel walked into the room and sat down on a small wooden stool that I liked to rest my feet upon. He was so huge and the stool so tiny that I couldn't help grinning and hoping the smug git's weight would cause the legs to give way so that he fell onto the floor.

 

"They were not allies when I lived in Mordor. Anyway, is it wise for me to spar when I used to live with the enemy?" I had no doubt about my ability to match his, if he was to be my partner, but was it wise to do so? Probably not. I could see it ending in tears.

 

Glorfindel sighed. "I don't know what is going on in Elrond's head. If I was him I wouldn't let you near cutlery, let alone a dagger or sword."

 

"Why don't you get off my foot stool, sit over there, and insult me in comfort?" I indicated the sofa and continued reading Elrond's memo about all staff being required to participate in combat training in case the realm needed to be defended in the future. The Fellowship were due to leave a few days hence, and I hoped with all my heart they would succeed, the alternative was too terrible to consider.

 

It galled Glorfindel that Gandalf and Galadriel immediately trusted me. Before the meeting of the Ring Council they sat either side of me and took my hands, much like Elrond had done when I first arrived. Then after remaining silent for a few minutes they declared me without blemish.

 

"Interesting," Gandalf muttered. "It seems that somewhere within the abhorred one there is still an incorrupt portion of his fëa. You do not carry his evil."

 

"Maybe when he concentrated the powers in my ear tips and cut them off he removed the evil as well?"

 

Galadriel gave an enigmatic smile. "It doesn't work like that, Erestor." She squeezed my hand a little. "What terrors you have seen, and yet your mind is virtually unscathed."

 

"I think I was shielded from a lot of the truly terrible stuff. My worst memory was when I saw his true appearance."

 

Gandalf gave a start but quickly controlled himself. Galadriel shuddered. In my mind the image of the monster became prominent then faded almost immediately.  

 

"I can remove the memory," Galadriel offered.

 

"Elrond removed it last time but he said it might be the first of several visions and I had to tell him if I saw it again."

 

Galadriel said nothing. She placed her hands at the sides of my head, over my mutilated ears, and muttered words in a language I did not understand. Her voice became forceful and loud. Her hands shook, as did my head, as she waged battle with the monster inside. Every part of my mind became exposed to her light and the monster fought to stay, but she was stronger. They fought until the last; all the time I wondered if I would be harmed as huge shocks of pain shot through my being with every blow they delivered to each other. Eventually, the monster shrank and faded into nothing, unable to counter Galadriel's light and strength any longer.  Everything seemed so much lighter and I could not stop thanking her. For the first time in my life I truly knew how it felt to be free of influence.

 

"So, who am I going to spar with?" I gave Glorfindel my best beaming smile, always guaranteed to annoy him, while already knowing the answer.

 

"Me, of course."

 

"You don't look very happy."

 

"Well why would I be?" Oh for sulky blond elves! One day some artist will paint him exactly like that and he will be guaranteed a place in heartthrob history.

 

"What about weapons? What should I wear?"

 

"Wear a pair of leggings. You probably won't last long anyway."

 

"What will you be wearing?

 

"Leggings. Like you."

 

"Nothing else?"

 

"Why would I wear anything else? What did you wear when you lived at...you know...that place you..."

 

"Mordor?"

 

"Don't say that word!" Glorfindel looked quite irritated. One up to me!

 

"All right, I won't say Mordor." I smirked, because I could. "I used to wear armour because no one goes into battle with just a pair of leggings on."

 

"Well, obviously! Anyway, our armour is better than the stuff you used to wear." He dug his boot into the carpet, against a purple rose tufted into the design. "I have seen orc armour and the stuff Easterlings wear."

 

"You never saw my armour." After putting my quill pen into the inkwell, more a statement than anything else because I certainly wasn't writing anything, but it did look as though I might have been, I stood up and stretched. The loose, black work robe Elrond required his advisers to wear made us look slimmer than we really were; something Glorfindel may not have been completely aware of. This was going to be fun, if only to see his face when I removed it.

 

"Your armour wouldn't have been any different."

 

I stood up. "I'm getting bored now. Are we going to spar, or are you going to get out of my office? Make up your mind. I haven't got all day."

 

"Oh, are you free? I would remind you that Lord Elrond's commands have to be obeyed, even by you, 'Prince' Erestor." There was an edge to his sarcasm, and it contained more than just ridicule. Maybe he hated me, but perhaps Elrond was right and the line between love and its opposite state could indeed be mistaken and was being so right now. I would find out in time.

 

"Come along I haven't got all day." I swept out of the door first, knowing he would have to follow; he hates walking behind.

 

Glorfindel pushed in front of me and announced that we would make our way to the sparring complex, a large compound containing a central arena surrounded by practice rooms. According to the golden one, there was a large changing area and a spa fed by hot springs from deep underground. Apparently, I would need the comfort of heat after he had finished sparring with me. I am sure it unnerved him that I wasn't fazed at all. Even if I was there was no way I would admit being so.

 

The sparring compound was apart from the main buildings of the Last Homely House. On the way we saw Boromir; he stared grimly at me, his eyes questioning, as if he had seen me somewhere else apart from the Ring Council. He might have done; I had certainly been in battle against the men of Gondor, but I do not particularly remember seeing him. I knew who he was though. He was of great interest to the one I used to know as my father, simply because of who he was.

 

Glorfindel selected one of the private sparring rooms rather than the main arena; it hardly mattered beings as I did not care where we fought. I watched as he stripped down to his leggings, furtively admiring the solid muscles and tanned skin, so smooth and with a light, golden sheen. My fingers wanted to touch him, follow the lines of the muscles and slide along the flanks of his perfect body. It was lust, that's all. So he would not know I was watching I made much of removing my robe as quickly as possible, that way I couldn't have possibly been looking at him.

 

As I turned back from folding my robe and draping it over a chair I saw Glorfindel staring. "Why have you never sparred here?" It sounded as if he was accusing me. "You have obviously had quite a bit of training."

 

"I believe that when we were in my office I told you I had sparred with orcs and men. Did you not believe me?"

 

"Why would I believe anything a servant of the dread one says?" He leaned forward on one leg, stretching the tendons before moving to the other one. "Even if he is a former servant?"

 

"You will not push me so easily. I know your game." I stretched too, so he could stare at my muscles elongating and contracting. I was not going to be the pushover he expected.

 

"We shall see. Assume your stance and at the count of three we fight."

 

"One, two three."

 

We circled one another, feinting moves and blocking. Glorfindel was too experienced a fighter to allow me any quarter, he easily stopped every attack. "Perhaps I should let you in. If I did, you wouldn't last for long."

 

I wanted to wipe the smirk off his face, preferably with my fist, but I couldn't afford to let him see anything apart from my features set in a blank mask, showing no emotion. If I had learned anything during my former training it was not to give away one's intentions to the enemy and right now he was Glorfindel.

 

"It will be a change to spar with an elf. In Mordor I sparred with balrogs."

 

Glorfindel's eyes widened a fraction and looked scornfully at me. "You have never fought one to the death."

 

"That is true, and I never let one kill me either." My riposte drove him to a swift, raging insanity and he made the mistake of attacking, letting his anger guide his actions.

 

Using his weight against him, I was able to swiftly tackle him down onto the ground and drive my elbow just under the shoulder blade area, causing him to emit a sharp, pain-filled grunt as the air shot from his lungs. It seemed too easy and it was. He flipped over as my elbow rose up and punched me just under the chin, eyes shining with anger, as if delivering justice. My whole body propelled backwards, slamming into the wall, such was the force of his blow. Shocks of pain shot down my spine and reverberated with sharp intensity through my head so that my wits were dulled and I became slower. Fighting the urge to vomit I stood up to defend myself.

 

Like a raging tiger he threw himself at me, shouting loudly that he hadn't let the balrog kill him and that I was a damned liar. Swiftly punching, he caught me numerous times in the chest and face while I tried to recover my ability to move. The sparring match was not one anymore, but a fight to the death, or at least that is what it felt like. I would have to defend myself and forget the rules just so I could survive.

 

When one feels that their life is at stake it sharpens the mind considerably. Instinct kicks in and the body is instantly ready for the fight. In a moment of clarity, I saw a fist driving towards me and caught it, using momentum to twist it around so my knee could smash through the back of his elbow. The move was opportune and definitely not planned. Glorfindel went down, roaring his agony, and smacked his head off the stone floor, which represented a success of sorts. He tried to get up but I held him down, not sure of my ability to keep him there.

 

"Glorfindel, stop. You are hurt, and so am I."

 

I had no idea that Glorfindel could swear and curse worse than a troll. He subjected me to every insult in his vocabulary, which is considerable, before finally giving up the struggle. It helped that he saw blood on my hand and realised it was his. It also helped that I wasn't taking advantage of his injuries to win the fight.

 

"I did not let the balrog kill me," he said quietly, eyes still blazing with anger.

 

"I know. But all is fair when sparring eh? You do not think twice about insulting me." Pain continued to shoot through my head and I suppressed the urge to vomit. "This was supposed to be a sparring match."

 

"I know," Glorfindel breathed out heavily, letting go of his anger. "Well, at least I can tell Elrond you do not need any practice."

 

Something had changed. We glanced at each other with weary eyes before looking away. It was lucky I turned; the contents of my stomach forcibly splashed over the floor. As my body lurched forwards I vaguely felt his hand pulling me back so I did not follow face first. After that I remembered no more until I awoke in the healing rooms.

 

The first sensation I noticed was the intensity of the light through the opposite window, accompanied moments later by a headache the size of Caradhras. Glorfindel stood by the bed; it was not until later that I saw the wooden splints holding his arm straight. For now, all I could wonder was why he was there.

 

"So you are awake?" Glorfindel took my hand away from my eyes and asked if the light from the window was bothering me. I was screwing them shut, so it was an easy assumption to make. After I nodded, he let go of my hand and turned away. I watched through barely opened eyes as he marched to the window and forcefully pulled the curtains across. Then he left the room and after a few minutes came back with Elrond in tow.

 

"How long was I unconscious?" I asked weakly. My tongue was sticking to the roof of my mouth. "Can I have some water?"

 

"What is your name?" Elrond asked as he shone a beam of light in both of my eyes, emitted by a crystal fixed to the front of a small oil lamp. I screwed them up tight. "Hm...light phobia."

 

"Is that bad?" Glorfindel asked.

 

"Well it's not good." Elrond barked. "You gave him a brain injury when you were supposed to be sparring." His voice was tight, barely suppressing anger.

 

"My name is Erestor. Can I have a drink now?"

 

"Answer the questions first." Elrond prised my eyelid up and looked again at my eye. "Well your pupils are equal and reacting; they were a bit slow earlier on." He took the light away. "Where are you?"

 

"Imladris."

 

"Who is the leader of Imladris?"

 

"You are!"

 

"What's my name?"

 

I heard Glorfindel make a strange squeak as if suppressing a titter.

 

"Elrond."

 

"Lord Elrond to you." Happily, he smiled and passed a glass of water to me, which I drank down to the bottom before asking for a refill. He waited for me to finish before speaking again. "You and Glorfindel are to stop your animosity immediately. I will not stand for it. and there will be consequences for both of you if I become involved again. Is this clear?"

 

"Perfectly," I replied. It was no good telling him that Glorfindel caused most of the friction. I was well aware of my tenuous position within the realm simply because of my past and who I was. The fairness of my situation was academic, because I was not able to change anything. However, I was certain it wouldn't always be like this.

 

"Glorfindel?" Elrond stared at my nemesis.

 

"I am probably more to blame for the build up to this situation, therefore I would like to apologise to Erestor for giving him a concussion and I accept he probably had no choice but to injure me in self defence." He looked at me, obviously not wanting to, and said sorry.

 

How I dealt with the immediate situation would have a lasting effect on the rest of my time in Imladris. "Thank you Glorfindel, it means a lot to me. I suggest we think about what we both say to each other from now on, so that neither of us becomes hurt by word or action."

 

Elrond seemed super pleased and told Glorfindel that he could learn from my example. I suspect he could have cheerfully strangled me. As if sensing his anger, Elrond told him to leave me in peace and go with him. They left the room and after another full glass of water I went back to sleep.


	5. Released

 

 

The guards took Erestor to the main office, where he was told that papers had arrived ordering his release. After completing the various formalities typical of any country that relies heavily upon bureaucracy, he was taken to the main gate and bid farewell. With him were the belongings they confiscated when he was originally arrested. He didn't look back. He didn't need to. Near the camp entrance was a truck. Erestor was ordered to get in the back. Inside, sitting on a bench seat, were three men who had been released that morning.

 

"You are lucky there are only four of you," one of the guards said.

 

Erestor remembered the outward journey, standing on a siding with other prisoners just past the main Moscow departure point of the Trans Siberian Railway. The public got on the train and then it would stop some way along the track where the prisoners embarked, being herded with other prisoners into mail carriages. They were like chickens, squeezed into as small a space as possible, subject to the elements both day and night, with many freezing to death before reaching the end of the railway, and all the time the people on the main carriages were unaware of the secret, shameful cargo.

 

The survivors would be crowded into a prison ship that would sail to Magadan and from there they were dispatched to different camps across the Kolyma region. He wondered if it was like that on the journey home as well; he hoped not. Several days before, on the gulag grape vine, came a rumour that a train had derailed while progressing through the ice-laden Siberian wastelands. He feared for those prisoners stranded in the open and knew their chances of survival were slim. Erestor crossed his fingers and hoped with all his might that the Vladivostok to Moscow train he would be travelling on for the last leg of his journey would not suffer the same misfortune.

 

It is said that survivors of the labour camps can recognise others, even many years later, because of the look on their faces, their haunted eyes, their gait, and how they carry themselves. Only those who have suffered the privations of starvation, and of physical and emotional brutality, can recognise those who in common with them have looked death in the face and only partially survived. Erestor wondered if that was how he appeared to the three men. They hunched over, barely looking at him, but sensing he was there all the same.

 

"I am Evgeny. You are the man who tells stories," one said, briefly looking up in a sideways glance. A green eye appeared under a dirty blond brow. Erestor could see the grime on his pale cheek.

 

"That is what the patients in the infirmary called me, but my name is Erestor."

 

"Who will you tell your stories to now?" A man with acne scarred cheeks and thin lips almost sneered. "Maybe you can write for children; you would be no good for anything else. I have heard about you and your stupid fairytales." He spat on the floor of the truck.

 

"Maybe I can." He wondered if the man was an informer, deliberately causing a stir so he could be rearrested on a trumped up charge, thus losing his freedom. It had happened before to other prisoners.

 

The third man looked up and shivered. He turned to the second man and told him to be quiet. He had heard Erestor telling stories and said it was the only time he had been free of pain. He shivered again, a movement that racked his whole body, and coughed hard, causing his already raspy voice to become hoarser. "I am Vitaly, maybe you remember me from the infirmary. I meant what I said about your stories." A coughing fit seized him, causing tears to stream down his bright red face. When he was calm he continued. "I remember you told us one about a huge dragon burning down a town sitting on a lake and a brave elf who wore yellow and purple flowers in his golden hair, who carried a dagger in one hand and a sword in the other." He couldn't say anything else. Talking more than a few words caused a great deal of effort and led to breathlessness accompanied by a peculiarly high pitched wheezing.

 

"I remember you, Vitaly." Erestor thought back to many months ago when he first saw him, he hadn't been as bad then. Death could not be far away for one whose lungs were clogged with the residue of rock dust breathed in while working in the mines.

 

The acne scarred man spat on the floor again, almost hitting Erestor's boot, as if taunting him.

 

"I swear now, if any of that touches me I will rip your fucking head off." Erestor's voice was low, so the guards could not hear him.

 

"You could try 'Story-man'." He sang his words, not expecting any comeback, mistakenly assuming Erestor was weak. The other two said nothing, not wanting to draw attention to themselves now they were on their way to freedom. The two guards in the front of the truck were not aware of the forming argument or decided to ignore them. Either way, there was no reaction from them.

 

"I will not need to try."

 

The truck continued along the dirt road towards Magadan, the port town where the ships carrying new prisoners docked, as well as being the exit point for the gold mined in the camps. The man continued to spit but nowhere near Erestor's boots. It seemed he was not that willing to continue the altercation. Even so, the others did not speak for the whole of the journey in case he was an informer.

 

At the dock in Magadan, they were given papers to travel on a steamer down to Vladivostok where they would join the Trans-Siberian Railway; they were lucky, sometimes ex-prisoners had to wait weeks for a steamer to arrive. The man who spat stayed in Magadan, which came as no surprise to the others. Evgeny and Vitaly would be travelling on the steamer with Erestor.

 

The journey took approximately two weeks to sail from Magadan to Vladivostok. During that time Vitaly seemed to improve; however, near to the end of the voyage he deteriorated and became much worse, often fighting for breath and desperately holding onto Erestor and Evgeny, begging them to stay so that he would not die alone. Erestor held him close so he could share his warmth, telling him colourful and magical stories, full of wonder and light, until he knew Vitaly was past the point of ever hearing him again.

 

Evgeny and Erestor watched as Vitaly's body was tipped over the side of the steamer for burial at sea. He was just one more death. The irony was that he not only achieved freedom from the labour camp but also from life itself.

 

"Why are you going to Moscow?" Evgeny asked, watching the ripples as Vitaly's body disappeared under the surface. "Do you have family there?"

 

"Yes, I have family. One old man, whom I assume is still alive."

 

"Old men are as tough as old boots. They have learned how to survive." Evgeny sighed. The surface of the sea was still and they were now alone, the crew having immediately resumed their duties.

 

"He is tough. Very tough." Erestor smiled. "But he is not unbeatable."

 

Evgeny grinned, not really knowing why he should. It seemed appropriate somehow.

 


	6. Evgeny

 

 

 

 

"You do not have to stay here." Glorfindel looked around and sighed with annoyance. "Do I really mean that little to you?"

 

"We have been through this a million times. He is not dead!" In the distance the swan ship bound for Valinor bobbed on the choppy sea. It wasn't as large as I thought it would be. I watched as Elrond and the two hobbits left their carriage and walked past the beds filled with purple flowers edging the cobbled ground of the dockside. They made their way to the ship, which was secured to the dock by ropes, and embarked immediately, as if not willing to tread the ground of Middle-earth any longer. Galadriel and Gandalf were already there, both talking to Círdan.

 

Glorfindel left his horse alone and walked over to me. "I keep going on because I do not want to make the journey on my own."

 

"You are a big boy. You will be all right."

 

"You don't get it. Do you?" His face looked tired, worried even. Yet there was a hint of anger underneath the exasperation.

 

"No! Why don't you tell me?" If we had to part while arguing, then so be it.

 

His voice became quiet. "I want you to come with me. That's all."

 

"Yes, but why?" I asked softly. "As soon as I find and kill him, I will be sailing anyway. It's not like you will never see me again."

"Because I love you. All right?"

 

"I have known that for ages, even though you have never said it. Perhaps if you had..."

 

Glorfindel grabbed my shoulders and pulled me close, as if this would be our last embrace ever. The scent of his violet flower soap wafted up from his chest before he buried his face in the crook of my neck. "Just come with me. I should have said it before but you never said it to me either and you always laugh at me when I try to be serious. That is the last ship; that ship over there. There won't be another one."

 

"I could not say it. If I did then I would go to Valinor with you. If I didn't, I could watch you sailing to safety while my heart is breaking. It is the only way. He is not dead." I kissed his cheek savouring the last feel of the smooth skin against my lips. "I know him. He is not that easy to kill."

 

"You could spend an eternity looking for revenge, and you might still not get it."

 

"This is not revenge. It is my duty, as his son, to eradicate his evil completely. He will regain his power and assume dominion of Middle-earth. Who will be there to oppose him? Not the elven armies, that's for sure. He will become powerful enough to destroy the whole continent if he so chooses, leaving vast areas of uninhabitable wasteland when meeting even minimum resistance. I know that not every elf has sailed, but no human, dwarf or hobbit deserves such a fate either, so I will do all I can to stop his terrible rise to power, because rise again he will. The elves of Imladris did not abandon me when I needed help, and so I should not abandon those who choose to stay and the races of those who are denied entry to Valinor and have no choice but to live here. "

 

"How noble, but who would do that for you? I do not know of any elf who would." Glorfindel's face did not echo the sentiment.

 

"You could stay with me, I suppose." He would refuse and the thought made me feel more isolated. The biggest albatross I had ever seen flew swiftly overhead towards the dock. "Stay with me. Don't get on the ship." My voice almost pleaded.

 

"I am too old for this life. I need the renewal that Valinor will give." He kissed my fingers before burying his face in my hands. "I do not know how I will live without you, but I know I have to go. I am too weary to stay."

 

"So be it. I will come over as soon as I am able. That might be the last ship over there but I think more will go in the future. That is just the last ship to be captained by Círdan."

 

Glorfindel breathed a sigh of relief, his warm breath flowing through my fingers, and then he put my hands down and embraced me again. "Do not stay too long, and do not forget how much I love you."

 

"I love you too," I replied, feeling a sense of release because I should have said it before and not when we were going to part. "Make a home for us, because I will be with you soon."

 

But it was not soon. I stayed thousands of years. Would Glorfindel still love me? I doubted it. The length of time was too long. He would still be in my heart, but it was useless hoping for more.

 

o0o0o0o

 

Erestor and Evgeny boarded the Trans-Siberian Express. The carriages were full of people. Real life people going about their business. An apple cheeked child looked at them and grinned, while her mother led her by the hand to the other end of the carriage, hoping for a place where they could both sit.

 

"I still cannot believe we are going home," Evgeny whispered. There would be informants on the train, they were in all public places.

 

"We will see green fields and trees, smell the scent of the spring flowers." Erestor grinned like a delighted child.

 

The train drove northwards, skirting the coast until it had travelled hundreds of miles inland, through wide open plains, mountain valleys, and rocky terrains, past large forests, farmlands and rivers. Sometimes the scenery would be broken by a town or village and the train would stop and collect provisions. People would get on or off, and most were not making the full journey to Moscow.

 

For six days the train chugged through the Russian countryside. Erestor could not get enough of watching the beautiful scenery, but Evgeny seemed to become withdrawn, distant even, as if he could not enjoy what he saw.

 

"What is wrong, my friend?" Erestor asked. "You should be happy; we will be in Moscow soon. You are a free man."

 

"I should be, but I am not," came the barely whispered reply. Evgeny looked up, his face wan, all hope lost. "How can I enjoy freedom when I do not know what it is?"

 

"What do you mean?" Erestor moved forward and hugged his friend, not expecting the sudden explosion of revelation. He knew why. In his mind he saw Evgeny as a young boy of ten, taken to the camps with his mother and four year old sister. On the way, he saw his sister freeze to death and his mother die of grief; she gave him the last of her bread and told him to live. He cursed himself for being able to survive, wanting to follow them into the numbness of non-existence. Instead, he grew up in miserable, harsh conditions, learning to cheat, steal and lie just to survive, with the memories of his sister pleading for her mother to keep her warm before finally becoming silent constantly invading his dreams. Erestor pulled him closer. "I am your friend. I will be with you in freedom and show you just how good it can be."

 

"In this country?" Evgeny pulled back, nodding sadly. "I will not even have a place to live. My papers are for Moscow because that is where I was born. I have no family."

 

"I will have nowhere to live either, but I am still hopeful that I can find somewhere. Maybe I will have to sleep under a bridge, or in an alley, but it still won't be as bad as being in prison." Erestor smiled at his friend and looked into his eyes. "We will stick together and we will be all right. You know how to steal and I know how to charm. We should do very well in the end, my friend."

 

Evgeny smiled, half laughing, as if released from some inner darkness. "We will be all right," he agreed. They sat down and ate some black bread and sausage which one of the occupants on the train shared with them when Erestor told them the story of Beren and Luthien, telling the tale in instalments so the food would keep coming.

 

That night Evgeny climbed down from his bunk high up near the ceiling of the carriage taking care to be as quiet as possible. Erestor lay directly underneath, fast asleep, his chest rising and falling and his eyelids shut. He was dreaming; Evgeny could see his movement under his eyelids. Now was the time.

 

Erestor woke in the morning. The background noise of the train was always there, but at night he would hear the snores and deep breaths of the sleeping. Sometimes they would cry out or talk in their sleep. Rarely was it quiet for long. Something was not right. He looked at the bunk above him and the boards were straight, there was no slight bowing as there should be when occupied.

 

"Evgeny?" Erestor asked. He jumped out of his bunk and as his feet hit the floor he saw that Evgeny's bed was empty. He reached up and felt the bed. There was no residual warmth from a recently vacated bunk. Evgeny had been gone for some time. "Hey, all of you!" he shouted. "Where is the man who was on this bunk?"

 

In his panic Erestor kicked the feet of several passengers, who complained bitterly or were abusive because their sleep was disturbed. He persisted and one old man said that some time before Evgeny had gone to the toilet.

 

Erestor raced to the end of the car where he could hear a guard shouting and threatening to kick the door in. There were other people who wanted to use the toilet, he shouted, face red and pockmarked like a rotted, alcohol sodden, plum.

 

"Evgeny," Erestor shouted. "Come out of there. We will have breakfast and enjoy the day. The sun is shining out there!" He shouted himself hoarse but with no result. In the end he gave in. The old man from the carriage tapped Erestor on the shoulder and smiled sadly while shaking his head. "He did not know how to live with freedom. People kill themselves or they die of heart failure when they should be happier than they have ever been. You cannot blame yourself. Nothing you did would have prevented him from leaving his life."

 

"We do not even know if he is dead yet!" Erestor felt a wave of shock convulse through his body. Of course Evgeny was dead, there could be no other explanation for the door not opening.

 

Eventually the guard was joined by a colleague and together they forced the door. Inside, Evgeny sat on the toilet, hunched forward, and unmoving. He looked to be asleep and his relaxed facial muscles assumed an expression of peace.

 

"Poor Evgeny." Erestor whispered to himself, while fighting to stop his tears.

 

"Come," the old man said. "My wife is cutting up some sausage and bread. We will eat together and remember your friend."

 

"How did you know he would be dead?" Erestor followed the old man back to where they were sitting.

 

"I have seen the look before."

 

"You did not think to stop him?"

 

"How can I stop what will happen anyway?" The old man motioned for Erestor to sit down. His wife handed him some food.

 

"My name is Olga," the old man's wife said, her cheeks rose high and her eyes crinkled with genuine pleasure at meeting someone new. "Your friend was not for this life. We have seen this before. But, you do not have that look in your eyes. In your eyes I see something quite different, but I have no idea what it is. Piotr, can you see it too?"

 

Her husband looked into Erestor's eyes, holding his face in his hands. He stared intently, while Erestor looked at the wrinkles on Piotr's skin and several lines of barely visible old scars down one side of his face.

 

"I see fire," Piotr said softly. The group in the carriage gathered around and watched. "I see an old wrong being made right. You are nemesis!" His hands fell away and his face did not move, but inside the old man was full of confusion at what he felt and saw. He pulled Erestor's face nearer and whispered in his ear, "How are you older than me?"

 

All Erestor could do was to give an enigmatic smile. Already the eyes and ears of the KGB would be listening and making plans to report back what they had seen and heard. If the man and his wife were lucky they would not be met at the station by state officers who wanted to question them.

 

It was then that he saw a familiar face, the beautiful, kind woman, dressed in grey, who had saved him from touching the veil that divided life and death when he was in Sukhanovo. She was with him again. Her fingers idly twirled a blossom made up of multiple, small purple flowers. "They will be all right," she said. Erestor knew no one in the carriage could see or hear her. She gave the flower head to him. "There is little justice in this life, but as surely as night follows day, so does death follow life. You must decide for yourself whether your sacrifice is worth it." With that she disappeared.

 

At that moment the people in the carriage looked around, as if wondering why they were crowding around Erestor and his two breakfast companions. It seemed that Piotr and his wife had no idea why they were there either.

 

Erestor looked at the blossom. "Olga, I have a flower I would like you to have as a small thank you. I do not know where it came from, perhaps it blew in through the window." He leaned forward and gave it to her. She looked delighted. It was only a flower the onlookers thought. Hardly payment for breakfast, some said loudly. But they did not see what Olga saw. She saw a hydrangea head made with purple stones that shone rainbows throughout the carriage when she held it up. Quickly she put it in her pocket and thanked Erestor warmly. The onlookers could not understand what the fuss was about and sighed at her joyful exclamations before turning away to talk about other things.

 

"Did I make that happen or did the Lady?" Erestor wondered, as he took a cup of black tea from Olga. She served him first with the full approval of her grinning husband. No doubt he had seen the blossom's true form too.


	7. Lady Grey

 

 

The Lady, dressed in grey and holding a spray of purple violets, walked beside Glorfindel. Inside he felt honoured, even excited, as he concentrated on her soft lilting accent and the words she spoke.

 

  
  
"Erestor will arrive soon." Nienna's compassionate eyes glanced sideways as if filling with grief. "He will need the help of one who loves him beyond all measure, otherwise his soul may not survive."

 

  
  
"My Lady?" Glorfindel felt something close to outright panic, but held himself tightly, always being known as one who could keep control no matter what the provocation to his senses.  


 

  
"Erestor is not the elf you once knew. He has known terror and hardship beyond imagining. At one point, his ordeal was so terrible that he tried to pass through the veil from life to death. I gave him encouragement so he could complete his mission."  


 

  
"What happened to him?" Already the grief was flooding Glorfindel's heart, even though many years before he had decided to himself that he should not love Erestor anymore.  


 

  
"Erestor survived through the years, always following unrest and war to its source and knowing exactly who was behind it. He deliberately avoided notoriety and maintained an exterior of respectability, while covertly tracking the one who sired him. Always getting near, but not close enough, and even if he did I doubt he could have done anything without his powers. Since you sailed, Erestor has travelled the world and followed occupations that might surprise you. Times were good and times were hard; he knows how to live on his wits and how to enjoy good fortune, but this was always tempered by not being able to stay in one place too long, lest those around him question how he never grew older. He has seen more of the world than nearly everyone and has never chosen the easy path while searching for the evil one. In recent years, he tracked his quarry to Russia, and then everything went wrong."  


 

  
"I have never heard of Russia. How did everything go wrong?"

 

  
  
"In Russia, if you are accused of something, even something that we would consider highly trivial and not an offence at all, or even if you are completely innocent of all accusations, you are guilty in the eyes of the state without the need for any proof to stand in the way of being sentenced. They imprison and torture citizens to extract confessions, then they send them to labour camps, called Gulags, and work them until they die of starvation, illness and exhaustion."

 

  
  
"Why? Why would they do that?"

 

  
  
"Because their leader, Stalin, orders that they should."

 

  
  
"Why don't they overthrow him?" Anger rose in Glorfindel's chest. 

 

  
  
"Because he has the power of the evil one on his side."

 

  
  
"The evil one?"

 

  
"Sauron."  


 

  
"Is Erestor all right? Is he in one of those terrible places?"

 

  
  
"I have done most of all I can." A small tear dripped from Nienna's eye and left a wet run down her cheek. "I stopped him from dying, and I put it into the heads of those in control that he should be let out of the Gulag after a year. I also influenced the decision that Erestor should work in the medical block and not the mines. My last contact with him was on the train, ensuring that suspicion would not fall on him and he could get back safely to complete his mission. I do what I can, but my assistance is necessarily at a low level."  


 

  
"How is that, My Lady?"

 

  
  
"Lord Manwë and Lord Námo are also interested in the outcome. Erestor was meant to stay in Moscow, the city where he was working, and find Sauron there, but he was arrested and put in prison, then sent to a Gulag over a thousand miles away. My interventions were small but they ensured Erestor's survival. Both are desirous that my help is not detected by the evil one, so that he does not flee before Erestor reaches him."  


 

  
"Can Erestor succeed?"

 

  
  
Nienna sighed, as if all the sorrows of the world were weighted upon her shoulders. "I viewed Lady Vairë's tapestries, but Erestor's future is hidden though his time is coming. He is hopeful that you still have feelings remaining for him after all this time; however, he suspects the time period may have diminished them somewhat."

 

  
  
"My Lady, I waited for a long time. I have a life that is full and rich. Erestor is not part of it, and I do not know if he ever will be. I told myself not to love him anymore because he is lost to me by his own choice. I am upset that he has suffered, angry even, but surely he would have abandoned his obsession with defeating the evil one and sailed long ago if he still felt anything for me?"

 

  
  
"You do not understand!" Nienna's eyes flashed with anger. "His destiny was to be his father's nemesis. Lord Manwë would not allow him to sail until he fulfilled his oath to kill Sauron. Go back to your full, rich life and I will care for the one who has willingly endured for the sake of all who remain in Middle-earth. I shall not seek you out ever again!"

 

  
  
"NO!"

 

  
  
"What did you say?" Nienna raised an eyebrow, looking like an imperious queen who could kill without mercy.   


 

  
"I said 'no'. I will do what is right. No matter what it takes, I will do what is right." Holding his trembling hands together and breathing hard, Glorfindel waited for her reply.  


 

  
"So be it." Nienna's face was without expression as she faded into air. Glorfindel looked around his sitting room and wondered if it had all been a dream before quickly deciding it had not. He allowed himself a small smile and felt a tiny spark inside his breast, a rekindling of hope. Erestor was coming home.

  
  
  
o0o0o0o

 

  
  
The journey from Vladivostok to Moscow took well over a week. When Erestor arrived he said goodbye to his new friends and walked away from the train. Evgeny's body had been taken from the train several stops before, shortly after his death. 

 

  
  
He made his way to the British Embassy where he was told that they had made strong protestations after his arrest but had been forbidden by the British Government to press the matter any further due to a series of delicate negotiations with the Russian government about a possible exchange of spies.

 

  
  
It was pointless trying to get these bureaucrats to understand the privations and suffering he had endured. He was lucky that they offered to find him a place to live at their expense until he could find work or obtain the necessary papers that would allow him to leave the country. On his way out one of the staff, Mary Marsh-Allan, the darling of the embassy, asked him to go with her to the storage room in the basement. There she dug out a brown paper parcel with Erestor's name on it and an admonition not to discard written on both sides. Inside was a thick winter coat and a pair of warm boots. 

 

  
  
"We put your belongings in storage after your arrest. They can stay here until you can get a proper place to stay that is yours, but I think you should take the coat and boots today. It is cold outside." She smoothed her pale blond hair and smiled sympathetically. Mary organised parties and diplomatic gatherings, breaking hearts and flirting as part of her required game. Here was a side of her glamorous and supposedly flighty personality that hardly anyone saw, the one that cared and made sure no one was forgotten and would be helped if it was in her power to do so. She was deadly serious at the game, and had identified several questionable people and two double agents due to her partying and ability to make men trust her with their hearts. 

 

  
  
"Bless you," Erestor said quietly, taking off his thin soled shoes and putting on the boots.

 

  
  
"Erestor, do you know Lady Grey? She knows you, apparently, but I have never heard of her. She is nowhere to be found in Debrett's. Although, instinct tells me she is for real."

 

  
  
"She is not British." Erestor gave Mary a disarming smile. "But she is very much a lady."

 

  
  
"Maybe she married someone with a title and I have not caught up yet?" Mary looked excited. She might get to know some gossip before everyone else.

 

  
  
"She is foreign royalty, apparently, but I have known her for many years. Or, rather, she has known me."

 

  
  
"How interesting! Minor royalty perhaps? All those obscure princes and princesses running around Europe between the wars. So many of them it is hard to keep up. Maybe she knew your parents."

 

  
  
"I daresay. She has known me for a long time."

 

  
  
"This morning she visited the embassy and asked me to give you a message." Mary assumed a look of concentration for a few seconds and then her eyes illuminated and changed hue from blue to grey, as if someone was inside her and about to speak. From her lips came pure Sindarin, telling Erestor that Stalin was at the Kremlin and would be leaving for a place called Kuntsevo. He had the gift of being unseen and should use it; his other powers would follow.

 

  
  
"Thank you, My Lady," Erestor whispered as Mary came back to awareness.

 

  
  
"Well that was strange. What happened there? I seemed to go blank."

 

  
  
"I don't know. You were going to give me a message and then you stopped. I think we need to get you a cup of tea. Have you been working too hard perhaps?"

 

  
  
"Oh, Erestor, you are so wonderful; you always think of others. I really wish all this horridness had not happened. We all missed you so very much."

 

  
  
"The British government considered me expendable."

 

  
  
"I know." Mary shrugged empathetically. "If I can be of any help to you, please let me know. The NKVD took your passport; they are trying to say you are a Russian citizen now because you spent time in their prison system. Of course we are disputing it. One thing the British Government will follow through on is protecting your right to citizenship, even though they did not help when you were sent to that awful place. I will requisition a new one and book a flight ticket so you can go home within the next few days. You can travel on a diplomatic clearance, even they won't interfere with that."

 

  
  
"Thank you," Erestor fought his emotions and maintained a straight face; here was someone being kind and she was not required to, she just did it because that is how she was. "How can I ever repay you?"

 

  
  
"Just go home and find someone: write a book, or do something you love. Do it for yourself and don't let this define you. Just forget all this. This is over now. Leave it behind and don't think back to the past." Mary breathed in deep and then released her breath. "My time is up here in two years’ time. Let's decide to have dinner at the Ritz and we will laugh at all the silliness. Then we shall go dancing!"

 

  
  
"Yes, let's do that. I am a wonderful dancer." Erestor grinned as he buttoned up his coat, ready to go outside. As an elf he did not feel the cold but he appreciated warmth, especially after living in the eternal cold of the gulag.

 

  
  
Mary chuckled, her mood now seemingly light and carefree, yet her voice was gentle. "I know you are a wonderful dancer. Four Christmases ago, remember?" She gave him a kiss on the cheek, and then they climbed the stairs. She watched Erestor leave the building, committing her last glimpses of him to memory. When she lost sight of him she realised her fingers were crossed. "God help him," she muttered under her breath.

 

  
  
The hotel room was grey. The walls were a nondescript, school uniform grey, and the once white bed sheets were clean but had seen better days. The stone floor was adorned with a medium brown rug that was fraying at the edges. On the window ledge was a vase of tiny purple flowers, an incongruous decoration in a room so devoted to ugly utilitarianism. Down the hallway was a communal toilet and bathroom. Erestor felt betrayed and wondered why the embassy staff thought this was all right. He felt even more so when he turned the ceiling light on and found that it didn't work.  


 

  
It didn't matter. He had a job to do. Then he could leave Russia and make his way to England, where he would get enough money to buy a seaworthy boat to sail west over the sea. It was then that he sat on the bed and wondered how on Earth he was going to achieve that. His powers meant that he was perfectly capable, but he didn't want to do anything that might mean him being barred from the land of milk and honey as he was not sure a criminal would be welcomed there. He could never make enough money to buy a boat, so the only option was to steal or borrow it. He sighed, deciding to leave thinking about the situation until he came to it.


	8. Stalin

I saw him. I saw the bastard who sent millions of innocent people to their deaths just because they had ideas, because they could write, or they dared to laugh at a joke made about him, or because they had done nothing at all. In Sukhanovo I heard about a man who dreamed that Stalin had died. He told his work colleagues and they reported him. They reported him for having a dream. He was sentenced to twenty-five years of hard labour for plotting to assassinate Stalin. That's how crazy and paranoid the bastard is, and that is how helpless the Russian people are to resist him. 

  
  
Power coursed through my body and mind. A stream of thought arose, loud and clear, as if my voice was talking to me, 'I am Erestor. I have power undreamed of, and he shall pay for my suffering and for that of millions of others who have no voice. I will kill him for the sake of Arkady, Vitaly, Evgeny and all the others whose lives were cut short because of his egotistical cruelty, and also for the ones like Gala and Ignatiy who I hope are still surviving his system.' It occurred to me that even if I said all their names one after the other, not even stopping to eat, drink or sleep, the list would go forever on, never stopping for many years. However, even in remembrance it would be a pointless exercise, for who can change what has happened in the past?  


 

  
One man alone cannot assume such murderous power on such a sustained and lengthy basis. I felt in my blood and soul that Sauron was nearby, crowing with delight at his protégé's excesses. Now I had a chance of finding the one who was once my father. Stalin would tell me where to look, but I still intended killing him.  


 

  
His car drove past and went through the Kremlin gates. So that is where I would head. But first, I would visit the hospital situated across the Moskva River, a couple of kilometres away from the Kremlin, and steal some drugs. Hopefully, giving him them would make the end silent and irreversible, giving me time to prise information from him and make my next move. It didn't matter to me how long it took for him to die; after all, he did not care how long it took for people in the gulags to breathe their last, so why should I give him anything but the same consideration. It was a simple matter to walk in and steal the keys from the hospital nurse's pocket and unlock the drugs cupboard. After taking medications that would be useful for my coming mission, the keys were slipped back into her pocket and she was none the wiser. If the drugs failed I would kill him with my bare hands, which, with my regained powers, I was perfectly capable of doing.

  
  
The snow fell, and the huge red walls shielding the Kremlin buildings looked almost like a scene from a fairytale. No one saw me because I desired that they did not. That is not to say I was invisible, just unnoticeable; there is a subtle difference between the two. I walked straight through the checkpoint where the state cars enter, and the guards did not look twice. A car entered the gates immediately after, so I followed it around to Ivanovskaya square, where several more government cars were parked. There it was, Stalin's ZIS-110, a massive black and chrome beast with windows so thick that one could hardly see who was inside, but I could when the car drove past. Now all I needed to do was wait.

  
  
It wasn't long before the driver got out of the car to smoke a cigarette. Now was my chance. Carefully, I opened one of the rear doors and got inside, closing it as silently as I could. Now I would wait. The smell of the leather seats almost made me somnolent but I remained focussed. If only the prisoners in the gulag could see me now. I wonder what they would do if they were in the same situation.

  
  
Much later in the day, Stalin climbed into the car and sat beside me, not even noticing I was there. But I saw him. I saw his combed back hair, pockmarked skin, and cold, narrow eyes under the thick, well sculpted eyebrows. His thumb and forefinger pulled at one end of his full moustache while reading a slip of paper that he pocketed after barely a glance. His eyes slid to where I was sitting and he frowned; for a moment I thought he had seen me. Several times he looked in my direction, pensively staring, as if trying to decide what to do. I was unnerved too, even though he couldn't see me.  


  
How I despised him. I could kill him now. That was the thought running through my head; he would deserve it after all. But I had other plans for him. He would tell me where Sauron was skulking, of that I was certain.

  
  
Behind us a bevy of cars followed as we rode through Moscow. It did not take long to arrive at Stalin's dacha in Kuntsevo, about ten miles from the city centre. We passed through the gates in the double perimeter fence and rode past poorly camouflaged anti-aircraft guns to the main house. The doors were guarded by NKVD special troops and I saw quite a few patrolling the grounds as well. The accompanying cars parked beside the one we occupied. Beria, Malenkov, Bulganin, and Khrushchev emerged and joined Stalin shortly after his chauffeur opened the door on his side. Quickly I slid out too and waited to see what was going on.   


 

  
The guards opened the entrance door to the dacha and we all trooped in. The walls were wood panelled and so was the floor; a rather boring interior compared to the one he probably enjoyed in the Kremlin. I could not see that place looking so drab. Stalin decided his group should have some dinner before retiring to bed, thus giving me some time to think about my next course of action. It was time I sorely needed. My impetuosity had led to a lack of a solid plan. I did have a course of action worked out; however, it could in no way be considered completely water tight. 

  
  
The drugs might work quickly, or they might take some time. If I had a knife it definitely would be swift, and so would a gun. So many methods, some fitting and others not at all. I wanted him to know why I was killing him and to know the terror all of his prisoners felt while suffering and enduring his harsh system, where humans were no better and treated worse than cattle. However, it couldn't be more than that, otherwise I would slip down that slope into moral nearness with him.  


 

  
It was time to form a proper backup plan rather than the half-baked one I had hastily formed previously and use what was available here. Outside the main house, which is painted green, presumably to blend in with the cypress trees surrounding it, are some fortified outbuildings. I walked past the guards and watched them looking confused, asking each other if they saw something. They were unnerved but stayed at their posts. It was simple to open the door and walk in - the guards did not want to look in my direction because they thought the door opened by itself. Their inaction gave me time to open some locked cupboards and take a look at what they were guarding. I was able to melt the locks just by handling them, and yet I was not burnt.

  
  
What was a selection of timers, detonators and bombs doing in Kuntsevo? There were whole shelves of them in cupboards taking up a complete side of the room. I took one of each, just in case I needed them, and wired them together from a toolkit I found in another locked cupboard nearby.   


 

  
The guards could not help themselves. They burst into the room and saw nothing except the melted locks and open cupboards. They left puzzled, agreeing between themselves not to report it because trouble might follow, and then agreeing that they should report it just in case there were consequences for not doing so. 

  
  
While they discussed their story, I left the building after taking a knife, a handgun and some bullets. They were tucked into my jacket’s inner pocket. I could have taken the materials for more bombs but how many does a vengeful elf really need?

  
  
Now to see what I could find in the house. 

  
  
I left the frightened guards behind. They had gone back and spotted the missing knife and gun and had no explanation for it. One of them made his way to another station and alerted the guards there. The alarm was raised. Another guard made his way to the house and I followed closely, entering at the same time as him. Shortly after, the house doors were locked and bolted, which suited me down to the ground.

  
  
Outside the house, the NKVD searched the outbuilding and others in the vicinity. Obviously they wouldn't find anyone. It gave me a mere flicker of amusement before my mind went back to concentrating on forming a plan. 

  
  
In my pocket were the drugs I needed Stalin to take. One would immobilise him for a short while, and another would cause his death, eventually. I also had one to knock him out, in case it all went wrong and he started to shout. Now I needed to find some way of giving them to him.  


  
The door to the dining room was closed. A guard stood behind the door, presumably waiting for a signal to enter. I had no intention of poisoning Stalin's food because there was no guarantee he could not see me after the way he looked in my direction in the car, and also I had no desire to mistakenly poison someone else. I had to get it right.

  
  
Now I knew where he was, and none of the dinner guests were reacting to the alarm - if they knew about it. I could investigate further. After opening several doors I found what I assumed was his bedroom. It was an odd sort of bed, more like a pull out bed really, but it had a pillow, sheet and blankets. Next to it was a matching chair with a nightlight perched on the seat. To the other side was a large wooden desk. Stalin must work there before going to bed. On a side table stood a lone glass, a carafe of brandy and one of wine. I poured some of the drug into the glass and swirled it around the inside until it dried as an invisible film. There was enough in the glass to swiftly incapacitate the average human, but if it failed there was more. Just to make sure I added some to the carafes as well. Now all I had to do was wait and hope he retired to this room for the night and not elsewhere. Even if he did, I would find him. It was just a matter of time.

  
  
Five bloody hours I waited in that room! I checked several times that they were still in the dining room. Through the walls I could hear what sounded like a succession of toasts and drinking games. Several times I heard Stalin merrily urging the others to guess the temperature. I assume he meant of the wine. The others would drunkenly reply; Stalin himself did not sound inebriated at all, but neither was his voice completely sober.   


  
Eventually, he walked into his bedroom, smiling widely and seeming to be in high spirits. I stood over the other side of the room and watched with relief as he picked up the glass and poured some of the wine into it. He drank a large mouthful, all that was needed for the drug to enter his system, though it would be better if he drank the lot.

  
  
Happily, Stalin obliged. He downed the glass and poured another glass of wine before sitting on his bed and changing into pyjama bottoms and an undershirt. He idly swirled the wine around the bowl of the glass and drank the lot before taking a deep breath, which seemed to give him an increased awareness. 

  
  
"I can see you. You were in the car. I thought my mind was playing tricks on me. I couldn't see you properly, but I knew you were there and I could feel your presence." His voice was slightly louder than a whisper. "What have you done to me, you devil"  


  
I stepped out of the shadow.

  
  
"I have poisoned you, of course. It works quickly, so you will not have the strength to run for help, and I will stop you calling to the guards outside the door. However, I do have the antidote." I waved a vial of the drug in front of him. It was not an antidote but he was not to know that. "Tell me where Sauron is."

  
  
"No."

  
  
"Surely, you want to live?" I had not expected him to refuse.

  
  
"I am old, and I do not have very long anyway. Why shouldn't my death be today, rather than tomorrow, next week, or next year?"

  
  
"Tell me where he is? Why would you endure a horrible death just to save him?"

  
  
"Fuck you!" he spat. I put the vial back in my pocket.

  
  
"Why don't you tell me where he is so the killing can stop?" I asked softly. "I know you are not behind this madness." I had to keep a straight expression at the lies tripping from my tongue. "Tell me where he is so that you have one final act to redeem yourself in the afterlife."

  
  
"I do not look for redemption. Lord Sauron is the most powerful warlord who has ever existed. He cannot be killed, and even when his enemies consider him vanquished he rises again. I am his son and I look forward to casting off this useless body and rising again in glory, just as he did."

  
  
What?

  
  
I shrugged and looked non-committal; it took all I had. "That's unlikely to happen, isn't it?"

  
  
He smirked and said I might as well leave, because he had nothing more to say.

  
  
Something within said it was time for the reveal, where he would see who I truly am. My hair grew longer and rippled with a life of its own. Throughout my body there coursed almost unimaginable power as my soul shone with a blinding light, revealing my true appearance. Stalin's eyes nearly popped out of his head but he quickly looked away, feigning disinterest. It was like he had seen this sort of stuff before. "I am the son of Sauron. I am his first born. The powers he took from me are now regained after thousands of years. I am immortal. I will live forever!" I stopped the display and paused before looking directly at Stalin, who was not as awed as he should have been and questioning if the drug was causing him to hallucinate. 

  
  
"If you are that powerful you will find him yourself, but you do not have it in you to do such a thing because you are a coward with no balls. You had to drug my wine so you could face me."

  
  
He had a point there. 

  
  
"I drugged your wine so I could kill you, not for any other reason."

  
  
"I am not a fool. I knew there was no antidote and even if there was you would not give it to me. You look like my father, and I suspect you are like him in your ways as well. However, he has promised me life after this body is cast away, so I am ready to die."

  
  
I touched his withered arm to stop it shaking. In my mind, illumination shot like a bolt and all was revealed. Stalin's father was indeed Sauron, but he had not seen him until he was half grown. The man he thought was his real father cruelly abused and ridiculed him. He was the apple of his mother's eye, always being comforted and told he was right, even when he was wrong, because she hoped to make his misery less painful. At some point in his childhood, Sauron appeared and introduced himself as his father. He took the young Iosef's hand and laughed as he screamed when the flesh in his arm withered away. His mother looked on, eyes crazed with terror, as the powers her son possessed were drained from him, not that the young Iosef, or his mother, knew they existed. Then his mind was cleaned of all remembrance, as was hers. All they knew was that the arm, which had been healthy that morning, had somehow withered in the afternoon and there seemed to be no reason for it. Years later, when Iosef began his training at the Seminary, Sauron reappeared and seduced him away from his last refuge of goodness, always remaining in the background, but promising absolute power for his son if he followed him only. The rest is history. I felt some empathy for him, but this was tempered by the fact that many men have cruel and abusive upbringings and they do not become murderous dictators.

  
  
After unlocking the memories in Stalin's mind I touched his arm again. "He couldn't let you become powerful in your own right, so he concentrated your inherited powers in your arm and withered the flesh so he could take them from you."

  
  
"Who does that to a child?" Stalin whispered, struck with horror at the remembrance playing in his mind.

  
  
"He does, and so do you." I let the answer sink in. "Millions have died or are dying because of you. Men, women, children and babies; all die brutal deaths because you order it. I nearly died as well, and that is why you cannot rule Russia anymore, and it's also why I need to know where he is."

  
  
"Pity you didn't die!"

  
  
"I am glad you still have some fight in you." 

  
  
"Do you think I am the only one? Any one of my dinner guests would gladly carry on my work and with more vehemence. You are a fool to think you can overthrow anything." He leaned forward slightly as if about to reveal a confidence. "One death is sad, but more than one death is a statistic, no matter what the number, so who are you to decide anything about killing?"

  
  
"I might ask you the same question."

  
  
"Well you will not get an answer." His voice was wet and becoming difficult to understand.

  
  
For the last time I asked, "Where does Lord Sauron live?"

  
  
"Even though I am near to death, I fear him more than you." He looked resolutely ahead and said no more.

  
  
I sat in the chair, feeling defeated, and waited, watching as he tried to move. After a few minutes he began to sway, unable to sit straight anymore. He aimed for the bed as he fell sideways but thudded down onto the floor, landing heavily on his back. No help came, even though the guards must have heard him fall.

  
  
Red-veined eyes stared up at me as I put the other glass vials to his lips and poured the contents in. He gurgled, so I held his mouth and nose shut until he swallowed. "You will bleed inside, having multiple internal haemorrhages until one of them kills you. There is nothing to be done about it, yet it's still a kinder method of dying than any in the prisons and gulags. I have also given you something to take away sensation and fear. I was going to let you suffer, but I am not that sort of person. I am not you."  


 

  
I stayed until I was sure he was in a deep sleep, relieved that it was all over, yet not knowing what to do next. The note he had briefly glanced at in the car was still in his pocket. I fished it out, hoping it would give me a clue as to Sauron's whereabouts, but all it contained was a few words from Khrushchev confirming that he had carried out some unspecified orders. In the corner of the slip of paper was a doodle of a purple forget me not. What did it mean?

  
  
After forcing the nearby desk drawer open I found some recent correspondence from Sauron, but there was no address to be seen. At the end of one letter, Sauron had signed, 'affectionately yours, your Father'. I felt a slight pang of jealousy, even after all this time. All through my life I made the right decisions and always did the right thing, eschewing all that was evil and caused harm, yet deep inside I felt grief for what I once had. Those years had been so good before it all went so drastically wrong. I had loved a false reality, that was all, yet no matter how many times I told myself that, there was still one defiant spark that whispered I was once happy.


	9. Split Soul

"Yes, over there, Nethwen." Glorfindel pointed at a window ledge upon which his maid placed a vase of purple peonies interspersed with tiny, white bell flowers. "He will love them. Peonies are his favourite flower, or they were when I last saw him."  


 

  
"Yes Sir," Nethwen grinned. "We have filled the whole house with flowers. It smells lovely in here. And the furniture is clean and the rugs beaten. The summer curtains are up and the bedding has been changed. The cook asked me to tell you that she has bought the foods in that you specified and wonders when you would like to sort the menus with her?"

  
  
"Hm, I hadn't thought that far ahead." Glorfindel appeared thoughtful for a moment only. "I will go right now and see her."

  
  
o0o0o0o

  
  
I gave up looking for Sauron's address in Stalin's room. He lay on the floor, hardly stirring except for his chest rising with shallow breaths. Outside his room I could hear the guards changing. It was going to be a long night.

  
  
I sat for the rest of the night in his office, thinking and trying to formulate a plan for tracking down Sauron now that my efforts had proved fruitless here. In the morning they would find their beloved leader, and maybe I could track Sauron through the people who attended afterwards, when the shit hit the fan. That could be the only way. I tried to think of Nienna, but she did not appear. This was going to be done by myself or not at all. In the meantime, I read books Stalin kept in a small bookcase near his desk. 'The international proletariat and the war. Digest of articles. 1914' by D. Ryazanov contained a dried piece of purple lavender flattened between the pages, maybe he used it as a bookmark. I flicked through it and found no more flowers, nor did I in any of the other books.  


 

  
The dawn sun lit up the grey clouds with a weak, dirty yellow. They would find him soon, of that I was sure. However, no one appeared until ten o'clock that night. It was unbelievable how long they left him. By that time, the drug to keep him asleep was wearing off and he was making incomprehensible sounds; however, he did not seem to be completely aware, as yet. The windows were bolted and the door guarded, so I had to stay all that time with him, my dying half-brother, so as not to attract attention.  


 

  
As soon as Stalin was discovered lying on the floor, his bedclothes sodden with stale urine and muttering "Dzhhhhh" repeatedly, the alarm was raised. The soldier who discovered him dialled a number on the desk phone and asked whoever was at the end to send good doctors. He did this several times; I recognised the names of several party officials. He thought Stalin might have suffered a stroke.

  
  
Meanwhile I sat watching, the bomb strapped to my body and the small detonator in my hand. In some part of my consciousness I knew that meeting Sauron again and overcoming him would also result in my death; therefore I would choose the swiftness of the bomb combined with the surety of killing him too.

  
  
Then the soldier made the call I hoped he would. "Comrade Sauron. Come at once..." Relief flooded my senses and I closed my eyes, not having to listen to the rest of the short conversation.

  
  
o0o0o0o

  
  
"Lady Nienna," Glorfindel said as he saw her appear before him. "I have made my house beautiful for Erestor so he can be happy here."

  
  
She caressed the head of a purple peony before turning to face him. "Erestor's time is near. You will come with me to the Halls so we can wait for him."

  
  
"Will he be dead? Will I be dead as well?" Panic shot through Glorfindel's face as he wondered if his preparations had been for nothing. 

  
  
"I will take a portion of your soul to the Halls, while the remaining part will keep you peacefully sleeping here. Erestor will not be the elf he once was. You will need to convince him to live again."

  
  
"What if I fail?"

  
  
"That all depends on how much you love him. There is always a way." She took his hand. "Come, lay on your bed."

  
  
He sat down on top of the covers before laying his head down onto a freshly changed pillow. Before most of his soul split from his body he looked at the crisp white linen of the pillowslip and hoped the outcome would be worth all the hard work his household had put in to welcome Erestor.


	10. Death Fight

I watched as the guards lifted Stalin off the floor and took him to another room. They laid him on a couch ready for a group of doctors who hovered nearby, talking in hushed tones. It was amazing how quickly they arrived at the dacha, and no surprise to anyone that they looked frightened out of their wits. Three party officials ordered them to proceed quickly and do all they could to save him before leaving the room. The maid brought bowls of hot water and towels in, along with a fresh pair of pyjamas. The doctors examined Stalin, and after some discussion they washed and dressed him while the maid hovered, watching but trying not to show she was interested. Then the doctors set to work applying leeches to various parts of his body, while taking his pulse and staring at the thermometer before putting it back in his mouth. All the while, they shook their heads and looked at each other, knowing that any actions on their part would be futile.

 

In the background the front door to the dacha slammed open, followed by the most respectful exclamations from the guards, of a type reserved for Stalin himself. He was here.

 

The power within welled up and I wore it as a divine right, like a king wears a crown. Sauron had taken it away because he feared what I could do, but he could not do so again.

 

Our time had come.

 

"YOU!" Sauron strode into the room, his finger pointing at me. The other people in the room seemed to be unaware of our presence.

 

"Yes, I am back, and I am going to kill you."

 

Sauron laughed heartily. "You? Kill me? You killed my son. Do you really think I will let you kill me as well?"

 

"He is not dead yet, but he will be soon." I gave a superior smile, designed to enrage. "Before your son sank into unconsciousness I showed him how he came by his withered arm. He asked what sort of monster does that to a child." I told a small lie; the horrified Stalin had not called him a monster, but all is fair in a war of words.

 

"He would not dare!" Sauron spat the words contemptuously, hate shining in his eyes. Then he turned, assuming a false serenity and seemed almost non-committal. "The orcs who helped you escape were flayed alive. Their screams could be heard across the Mordor plain. You bear the responsibility of their deaths."

 

"You are the Emperor of lies, why would I believe you?" I sneered at him from within the increasing layers of light emanating from my being.

 

"Stupid fool! The Palantír..."

 

"LIAR!" As brightly as I shone, so did the darkness seep from him. At some point dark and light would meet, well before we engaged in combat. "Palantírs do not work like that. You had no idea I was alive. You thought your staff were without imagination and couldn't feel emotions other than anger and hate. Never in a million years would you have allowed my escape. I knew too much."

 

Light and dark touched.

 

Sauron slowly changed into the form that had terrified me so much when I was his prisoner in the dungeons. And then he changed back.

 

He tried again, his face consumed with ferocious rage because he was unable to assume his true form. Meanwhile my appearance was changing. Power charged throughout my body and I laughed with joy. Never had I felt such wondrous feelings of strength and might. As my hair rippled and the brightness of my being became unbearable, two figures came into view. Both possessed pointed ears, dark hair, and eyes as old as time itself. One looked grim and dispassionate, whilst the other exuded a nobility that made me wonder if I was in the presence of a king. The ends of his hair flipped gently as a zephyr rippled around the room. They were not elves.

 

Sauron did not see them. As I looked the dispassionate one put his finger to his lips.

 

"Well, it makes no difference," Sauron declared. He tore across the room to engage me, his fists flying and the darkness flailing in formless tentacles, squeezing hard as it engulfed me, until I burst forward and punched him under the chin, sending him flying backwards.

 

He recovered quickly, but I gave him no time to attack again. My feet landed on his belly, throwing him back against the wall, before I jumped up and aimed a flying kick at his face.

 

When I knew him, Sauron had a habit of staying well behind enemy lines, not engaging in the battle until his enemies were nearly vanquished. Even so, he was always a better fighter than me. I leapt to the side when I saw the barrel of his gun, wondering for a split moment where it had come from. I had not seen any evidence of a concealed weapon when he stormed into the room.

 

As the shot ripped through my chest, everything stopped. The momentary shock of cold agony was accompanied by a charge of pure adrenaline. I would not allow him to kill me. In less than a second the stolen knife was thrown, the blade embedded up to the hilt through Sauron's cheekbone. While he reacted, my gun fired and a bone in his leg made a sharp cracking noise as the bullet snapped it.

 

"You couldn't even aim for my heart," Sauron sneered. It was true, I could not. The hole in my chest stopped all strength and the pain was overwhelming. He pulled himself up against the wall as I faltered, firing my gun still but getting nowhere as the bullets fell short, and he closed the distance between us. "No wonder I wouldn't let you go into battle. You would lose us the battle before it even started."

 

As Sauron's fingers closed around my neck, the tall man with the grim set on his lips told me to throw away the gun and use my last weapon. Vaguely, I heard the man who had once been my father saying that this time he would make sure I was dead.

 

My head shook as he throttled me. Opening my eyes for the last time I saw the pure, sadistic enjoyment on his face; the excitement in his eyes taking on a sexual glint. Had it been like that when he made Stalin's arm wither? It was my last thought before I felt for the detonator and pushed, shutting my eyes so I could not see my last moments.

 

I was no more, but neither was Sauron. Our souls continued to fight, until they merged together in a mass of blinding light and opaque darkness. In such an animalistic struggle there was no thought; however, I saw the inside of Sauron's mind and I doubt I will ever be the same again. I now know the meaning of absolute terror, the things that can send a person insane with just a glimpse or a word, and I saw with terrible acuity the creatures that linger in the shadows, ones whose visages lead to eternal madness.

 

The darkness suddenly evaporated, leaving me as weak as a new born foal that has yet to stand on four legs. My soul lay on the floor, bent in a foetal curl around a small, gold mass that was not there before. There was no sign of Sauron. Curiously, I picked it up and saw it refine into a tiny baby, no bigger than my palm. As the face became clearer, its joyful eyes looked at me before two arms broke free and rose upwards, tiny fingers grabbing at the air as it chuckled.

 

"I will take him," the man with the zephyr blowing through his hair said to me as he took the gold baby. "This is Mairon; Sauron, before he became corrupt. You are descended from this portion of him because your mother was elven. His human son was not so lucky."

 

"Who are you?" I wanted to close everything about myself, to lay down and sleep forever, with no thoughts or distractions and certainly not the terrors I was still seeing from Sauron's mind.

 

"I am Lord Manwë," he replied. "Erestor, joy will come. This is not forever."

 

"I want to die. I do not want to exist anymore. My mind is filled with horror. These visions will stay forever." The tears dripped down my cheek as I fell. On the wooden parquet floor I lay, knees pressed into my chest as I held on, hands gripping so hard that if I were still possessed of body they would have broken bone.

 

"You are already dead," Lord Manwë said softly. "But take heart. Your situation is not forever. You have fulfilled your quest." The warm breeze rippled my hair and flowed like soft feathers across my cheek and then they faded as Lord Manwë left.

 

"What quest?" I asked, even though I knew he was not there anymore.

 

Another voice. "I am Lord Námo. Let us leave this terrible place and go to where your thoughts will not trouble you."

 

Silently I stood up, passively accepting my fate. On the floor, bits of our dead, bomb shattered bodies had become visible in the room. I wondered why I had not seen the two doctors hovering over the bits of flesh, wondering how they had appeared. Lavrentiy Beria ordered that the mess be taken to the furnace and disposed of. He picked up a ring standing proud in a pool of blood and pronounced it as belonging to Comrade Sauron, whose existence was a state secret, known only to a few.

 

"Come," Lord Námo said softly as he led me away.

 

"What happened to the evil part of Sauron?" Everything seemed disconnected and dreamlike, as if I was somewhere else and viewing the scene from a distance.

 

"In The Void, a place where he will stay forever, tormented by the evil he created from his past deeds and imaginings."

 

"Will Stalin go there too?"

 

Lord Námo smiled, as if his lips had done so for the first time. "That is not for you to know."

 

We went to a place of vastness; a fortress that went on for what seemed forever. Enormous tapestries hung in the air and the people woven into them moved as if playing scenes from life. Looking at the nearest one I saw a woman looking much like Cothiel, sitting next to a man bouncing a baby boy on his knee, before putting his arm around her. Lord Namo told me to look away before guiding me further into the vastness.

 

"I am alone. I am always alone."

 

"Sit here for awhile and wait. You will not be lonely for much longer." Lord Námo let go of my hand before walking away, fading into thin air as he did so.

 

The thoughts in my head overwhelmed again. As I looked into the vast nothingness, a tapestry nearby played a scene from my life. I was a trusting child, sitting on my father's knee. We put our hands in paint and printed the impressions on a large sheet of paper. He held my hand as I wrote our names, smiling as he kissed one of my pointed ears and held me a little tighter. On the table, just touching the corner of the paper, was a vase with a single stem purple lily.

 

It was too much. In some ways the thought, although happy, was worse than the ones filled with terror, because of the underlying monster he was and how things could have been if he had been a normal parent.

 

"NO MORE!" I cried into the grey distance. "NO MORE! I DON'T WANT TO LIVE ANYMORE! " The tears fell down my cheeks. "Let me die. LET ME DIE!"

 

I bawled out my demands until I was hoarse, knowing the futility of doing so. In the end, I gave up and crouched on the floor, not looking up, not looking down, holding on to my legs and willing everything to end. Why did it have to be like this? What was it for?


	11. The Halls

In the distance, a small figure crouched. It was a relief to see something other than floating tapestries and jet black columns rising from the equally dark floor. For what seemed like hours we had walked through air filled with a greyness that I could almost touch and that existed as far as the eye could see. From previous experience I knew the Halls were much bigger inside than the exterior of the building suggested, but they seemed to be even larger than I remembered.

 

"There is Erestor. He is a shell of the confident, spirited elf you once loved and has asked for his soul to die so that he will exist no more. Such was the torment of his former existence." Lady Nienna pointed. "Go to him and give him a reason to live. I will stay on this spot and weep for him."

 

"I cannot let him die." Panic consumed my body and mind. I would not, could not, lose him again. "Thank you, My Lady. I will do all that I can."

 

My hand lightly skimmed Erestor's upper arm as I crouched down to look at his downturned face.

 

"Erestor, it is me, Glorfindel. I have come for you." There was no response, except for a fine shudder that rippled through his back. "I never stopped hoping that one day we would be together again." I placed an arm around his shoulders before kissing his hair. "I love you, and that has never changed."

 

Erestor looked up, his eyes meeting mine. He looked perplexed, as if trying to place who I might be, maybe wondering if I was real or not. His eyes reflected the most unutterable pain and his breathing caught as his body shuddered. Life was too much for him, too painful for one elf. Psychologically, his endurance was at an end and he had no more to give; the agony of existence consuming his desires and spitting them out again as one thread, the wish to not suffer anymore. I doubted he could hear or understand my simple words of love, yet I would keep on trying.

 

"Death will take me soon, and then I will not have to think. I do not grieve that my life has been the opposite of what I would have wished for. Such emotion would be pointless now."

 

My hand sought his and I held on as he looked away. "Do not die. Please, do not die."

 

Erestor stared ahead. From his mouth came a whisper. "What right do you have to ask such a thing? Let me die."

 

"I do not expect you to ever forget, or not be affected by the life you led before, but I ask that you give me a chance to show you how much I love you, and what love truly is, and how good it is to be happy and not have to care." I was saying it all wrong! But what else could I do? How does one talk to someone who has lived through such horrors and expect them not to be so broken that non-existence is preferable to any state that might involve consciousness?

 

Erestor looked up again, his eyes overcome. He bit his lip, tearing away a tiny shred of skin.  
"Mary wants me to go dancing at the Ritz. I dance well."

 

"Erestor, do you know where we are?" I asked softly, wondering what the Ritz might mean.

 

"In the gulag, of course. You should know that." He looked up, his full blue eyes staring into mine. "I tell stories of wondrous things. I am the storyteller." Then he laughed, his eyes unsmiling, mocking even. "I will never get out of here. Don't you see? We are here to stay. You can never escape because we are in the middle of nowhere."

 

"We are in the Halls of Awaiting, Mandos. Your former life is in the past. Things can be happy now whereas they were not before." Dread filled my senses; I knew Erestor's mind was holding on by the thinnest of threads and losing him was more of a possibility than persuading him to live.

 

"My brother is dead. I murdered him. But I had to, you see. I couldn't let him live. He hurt and killed too many people." Erestor's face was like that of a child, pleading to be understood so that they would not be punished. "But he was a victim too." His hands moved to hold both sides of my face, so firm I could not move, and his eyes became urgent, as if I should make sure to understand. "Sauron. It's always Sauron. It's always ever been Sauron. And it took thousands of years to beat him, and millions of lives, because he still had all of my powers. But they came back and I was able to destroy his evil."

 

"You are a hero, Erestor. You have saved countless future lives. Why can you not allow yourself the happiness you deserve?"

 

" I am so weary that I cannot take any pleasure in existence anymore. Mine is the last life he will take, but it's enough for me that I put an end to his wickedness."

 

Lady Nienna moved directly behind us. She touched my shoulder, and as she did, a panorama of events flashed through my mind, revealing the true horror of Erestor's life. He had tracked Sauron for thousands of years, always coming near but never close enough for positive action. Along the way he had seen horrific and violent deaths, torture, extreme brutality, and unimaginable sufferings affecting hundreds of millions of peoples all over the Earth and had suffered cruelly himself. Powerless to stop it, he was always one step behind the monster responsible for the terror. I wondered if I should walk away and let Erestor have his wish. Did I have the right to ask him to live when all that he had seen could never be forgotten and still caused him torment? Was I even up to the task of helping him to be happy in a new life?

 

"You doubt yourself," her voice flowed like a languid stream through my consciousness.

 

"I am not up to the task. I thought I was, but I am not." My voice broke at the realisation.

 

"Take heart, there is always a way." She knelt down and hugged Erestor to herself. He did not resist. Two tears fell upon his upturned face, and two more on his eyes. As he closed them, her fingers smoothed his hair. She said nothing as she held him close, but gradually Erestor put his arms around her and buried his head in her chest, his face relaxed and the line of his lips less grim.

 

"What do you see, Erestor?" The tears flowed from Lady Nienna, covering his head as if he was being anointed with sacred oils.

 

"I see flowers. Vast plains of purple flowers. They are everywhere, and I have always seen them." His eyes remained shut but his expression settled into one of relief. "You have always been there."

 

"I have always walked beside you, for you are beloved of the Valar. You swore an oath, but you were already on a mission that was unknown to you. Now it is over and your gift is a new life with the elf who loves you."

 

"Then, please, make me forget all that has happened before."

 

"I cannot do that. Past experiences shape the present and the future. They made you who you are. But I promise you, your life will be different from now on if you accept our gift of a new life. For every bad memory there will be many more good ones, the pain will lessen so that it becomes barely remembered, and every terror will be wiped away by love. Surely that is better than dying?"

 

"I do not know how to love anymore, or how to accept being loved." Erestor opened his eyes and looked at me. "I do not want to hurt you. Love can hurt like no other emotion. I do not want that for you."

 

"Yet I would want that hurt for myself if you chose to live again, if that was all I could have from you." I was prepared to risk everything and a small part of me wondered why.

 

"I could not hurt you."

 

"I know."

 

At that point something seemed to change in Erestor. Lady Nienna's tears had drenched his face and hair, but they fell no more upon him. She released him from her embrace and he stood up before taking my hand. He tried to grin rather than smile, and for a fleeting moment he reminded me of the Erestor I knew in Imladris.

 

Even I was not fooled that everything was now all right. He had chosen life, and more importantly he had chosen me. Things would not be easy at first, but in the end we would triumph. We would be the elves we were always meant to be.

 

I took his hand and we smiled in unspoken agreement as we walked together into the light.


End file.
